


Another Way Out

by AmeliaOdair



Series: Changing the Game [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Conspiracy, F/M, Friendship/Love, Ghost communicate through dreams, Lucy Gray haunts Snow, Mental Link, Psychic Bond, Quarter Quell (Hunger Games), Supernatural Elements, everlark, gadge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 74,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaOdair/pseuds/AmeliaOdair
Summary: Katniss and Peeta made it out of the arena together, but little do they know the games are only beginning.  Who can they trust as secrets are exposed and identities are revealed?  This is the sequel to "Changing the Game"; a Hunger Games - Catching Fire rewrite.  Told in several different character POV's.
Relationships: Gale Hawthorne/Madge Undersee, Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: Changing the Game [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103204
Comments: 42
Kudos: 27





	1. I am not the only one the games have changed

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back my lovely readers! I apologize for keeping you on the edge of your seats, but hopefully it wasn't too painful :) I first would like to apologize for this massive, massive chapter, but there was just so much to fit into it and I decided I better go ahead and post it before it turns into 20K words.
> 
> As always, thank you, thank you, thank you for your loyalty and dedication to this story, for it would not be possible without you guys! Your comments, questions, feedback, opinions and kudo's truly mean the world to me.
> 
> With that being said, please don't forget to drop me a line once you've read!
> 
> And now for . . . Another Way Out

****

**Another Way Out**

**Chapter 1 : I am not the only one the games have changed**

**_Takes Place : First 3 months after arriving home_ **

**| Katniss |**

_"IT'S WHAT YOU ALWAYS WANTED, RIGHT?" Cato's screams at the gamemaker’s, his voice quavering with anger or fear, I’m not sure. Except when he turns around to meet my eyes, his head is no longer his own. Instead, it is a life-sized version of one of their squirrel mutt's._

_"I can still do this; one more kill." The Cato-Squirrel head sneers viciously at me and then his eyes begin to glow._

_"_ Katniss!" Prim's compelling voice reaches out to me. A sudden wave of nausea fills my belly from the sound of her voice. Wait a minute, what . . . How did—

_Prim's voice, as well as any thoughts of my little sister disintegrate when somehow, I see myself sending an arrow into Cato’s hand, causing him to stumble and fall. I peer over the edge of the cornucopia and watch as the dog-mutt-monster takes a bite into Cato’s armor just before it explodes into a dozen of the evil, ravenous, killer squirrels._

_“Some . . . thing’s . . . wrong . . . Kat . . . niss . . . I don’t . . . feel—”_ _I rush to Peeta’s side and lower us to the ground just in time as Peeta loses consciousness._

_“Peeta, don’t close your eyes, don’t . . . you can’t go to sleep!” I beg Peeta, shaking him vigorously as the tears stream down my face._

_"This is how it was always meant to be, girl on fire,” I look up to see President Snow standing before me, his lips curled up with that sinister smile of his. “—your boy with the bread always intended to sacrifice his life for yours. It's what you wanted, to go home to your sister; and now you can." Snow's ominous voice hisses at me with his snake-like tongue. And then he transforms into the reptilian creature that he reminds me so much of, slithering his body around Peeta and squeezing his already lifeless form._

“Katniss wake up; it’s okay, you’re okay. Katniss, wake up; you’re just having a bad dream.” I recognize that voice, it's my sister. _That’s Prim’s voice, but what is it doing in the arena? Prim never went into the games, I made certain of it._ I think to myself, feeling slightly confounded.

Still frozen in place, my eyes pop open and cut to the right. Scanning my surroundings, I try to figure out where I am. At the sight of my sister’s soft, kind and gentle blue eyes, I am instantly overcome with a sense of relief. Prim was never _actually_ in the arena. “Did you have another bad dream?” Her eyes draw together, offering me a pained expression. I find it difficult to keep my eyes locked on hers as she inches closer to me, situating herself on my bed.

Slowly, the pieces begin to fall into place. I am home. Tucked safely under the covers in my new bed in Victor’s Village. I place a mental checkmark by each item as my eyes land on the familiarity of them. Bed, check. Dresser, check. Nightstand, check. Door to my bathroom, check. I no longer live in the Seam, yet after more than two weeks I am still unaccustomed with my new surroundings. My uncanny ability to always wake up in a state of confusion doesn't help matters either.

Returning my focus to Prim, I think about her question. That was no dream, as Prim put it so quaintly; a nightmare was more like it. “Yeah, sorry. Was I loud?” I ask her, scrunching my nose up apologetically. This wouldn't be the first time I've woken the entire house from one of my _nightmares;_ and I'm sure it will not be the last.

“Not too bad this time, you were just calling for Peeta.” She informs me with a sad smile.

I cringe at the words " _this time"_ and tighten my grip on the blanket that is draped over my legs. My fingers tangle through the loops in the soft, worn and tattered afghan blanket I have had since birth. It is one of the few things that has the ability to offer me comfort without Peeta.

“Oh.” I reply, inwardly recoiling at the thought of Peeta's name. ‘ _This time.’_ I repeat Prim's words in my head, ashamed that I once again have woken my sister from another peaceful slumber. Ever since I stormed out of Peeta’s house, angry at him for what I thought was taking my father's side, I have had the most vivid, lifelike recurring nightmares. I am back in our arena, trapped on the top of the golden cornucopia, forced to watch Peeta die and powerless to do anything to help him. 

Sometimes I am holding him and sometimes President Snow laughs at me. No matter the dream, the one thing that remains the same is my inability to save Peeta. President Snow almost always intercedes the arrival of Peeta’s medicine. And then there is Cato. Sometimes it is his actual face looking back at me when he speaks, and sometimes it transforms into one of their mutts; usually the squirrels.

“Katniss, stop being so stubborn and go to him. He is just as miserable without you, as you are without him.” My sister affirms. I look over to her and wonder when she became so wise and intuitive. How does she know what will ease my nightmares? And wait . . . how does she know that Peeta is miserable? Has she been talking to him?

"I . . . I can't Prim, what if he— no, I . . . I just can't." I tell her, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent the tears from leaking out.

"Katniss, whatever is wrong, you guys can fix it. But you can’t repair the problem if you aren’t willing to face him.” I shrink back at her words, knowing she has a point. “You love him, and he loves you, I just know you guys can overcome anything." She sounds so confident and certain, why can't I feel that way?

"That's sweet Prim, but I don't think it's quite that simple." Prim readjusts her position on the bed so that we are facing and takes my hands into hers.

"Katniss, you are my big sister and I love you, so I . . . I am just going to say this." She closes her eyes, sucks in a deep breath and then purses her lips before slowly blowing the extra oxygen out. When she opens her eyes, for some reason, she looks as if she has aged ten years. 

"Katniss, you are the bravest person I have ever met; when you want something, you don't let _anything_ stand in your way. When you get an idea in your head, no matter how big or small, you _always_ find a way to make it happen.” I smile, blushing at my sister’s praise. “Like, do you remember that one-time Gale told you that boys are better at setting traps? You were absolutely appalled, so you spent weeks and weeks practicing, working and planning to make one better than his; all just to prove him wrong. That’s one of the things I love most about you; when someone says you can’t do something . . . I don’t know, you get overcome with this fierce determination and accept their challenge.” She pauses, giving me a cheeky grin. “You’re stubborn that way. And . . . and most of the time that’s a good thing. And— and you're not afraid of anything. Most of the time, I find myself so jealous of you and— and I wish I was more like you." She finishes her spiel, causing a surge of heat to rise to my cheeks.

"But Katniss, I . . . um— it’s just that . . . well, I uh . . . I'm sorry, but there just isn't an easy way to say this, so here goes. Katniss. You're an idiot. You're being stupid and stubborn, or maybe it’s that you’re scared, I don’t know. But either way, I think you should— no, you _need_ to go to him. Go to him and talk to each other. He will listen to you, Peeta is a great listener."

Prim lets me have it and I feel like I am seven years old again, listening to one of mother’s lectures. When I open my mouth to protest, Prim holds her hand up, silencing me with a shake of her head. I am completely and utterly flabbergasted by her response to me, yet I feel a twinge of pride at the same time.

"I watched you fall in love with Peeta in the arena, I mean _really_ fall in love with him and I’m not talking about just putting on a show for the Capitol. And from what I saw on the television, it's clear how much you guys love each other. And when two people love each other like that, they can make it through anything. I mean, you guys made it through the games together; the _games_ Katniss. Your love was so powerful and it touched so many people in the Capitol that they changed the rules for you guys. And if you guys can make it through that, then I truly do not believe there is a single thing you and Peeta cannot overcome."

I am taken aback by Prim's candor. Her words are harsh, yet they ring true. There is no sugar coating, no easing into anything, she just straight up gave me a piece of her mind. I'm not ready to admit it, but she's right.

“I . . . but Prim . . . what would I even say? What if he never wants to talk to me again? I was so mean to him, Prim, I just . . . I can’t Prim, not yet.”

"I think . . . I think once you guys sit down to have a face-to-face conversation, the right words will just . . . happen. You'll just . . . know what to say. Isn't it better to know though? I mean, either way, it's got to be better than _not_ knowing. I mean, seriously Katniss, you can't keep living like this." She crinkles her nose up as she looks around the room, frowning at the chaos, the disarray that has become my life. There are clothes strewn throughout the room, dishes covering almost every surface and the air has a thick, musty feel to it. It’s gross.

"I . . . I—” My voice trails off and I shake my head, slowly looking to the floor and closing my eyes. I know she is right, but . . . no, I can’t. I am not ready to face the possibility of his rejection.

“Suit yourself.” Prim concedes, shrugging her shoulders and getting up to walk away. When she reaches the threshold, she pauses and then spins around to face me. With narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, she glances down at me, marching over to my bedside. She remains standing, her face painted with frustration and disappointment as she peers down to me. “No! You know what, you are such an _idiot,_ Katniss! The boy you love is just two houses away and you’re making yourself miserable for absolutely no reason! There is nothing in this entire district; or all the districts for that matter that you could do that Peeta wouldn’t forgive you for! I get that you went through a trauma, but for once can you think about someone’s feelings besides your own? When you’re miserable, you make everyone else in the house miserable. And . . . and we _all_ miss Peeta.” Prim shouts, throwing her hands in the air. She spins around, turning her back to me and marches to the door. She stops in the doorway again, but this time she doesn’t turn around.

“Oh, and you stink.” Are the last words I hear from my sister before the door slams shut behind her. Leaving me all alone. 

What happened to my quiet, sweet, soft spoken little sister? Apparently, I am not the only one the games have changed.

I deserve the isolation after the way I treated Peeta. He was just trying to explain my father's perspective to me. After I left his house that night, I couldn’t face my parents, so I went into the woods and ended up sleeping in a tree that night. I replayed our conversation over and over in my head and realized that Peeta was not defending my dad’s actions, but merely trying to explain why he thought he did what he did. And what did I do? I got defensive, yelled at him, accused him of not being on my side and stormed out of his house. _I_ abandoned _him._ He has every reason in the world to hate me and I wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to speak to me again.

After another few minutes of wallowing in misery, I get out of bed, standing up and stretching my legs. I walk over to my vanity and look in the mirror. "Who does she think she is, talking to me that way?" I ask, scowling at my reflection. I do not recognize the girl looking back at me, and it has nothing to do with my lack of hygiene. "Who am I kidding, she's right." I vocalize for the first time. "Okay, it's settled then, I'll go see Peeta." I tell the disgusting girl in the mirror who resembles me. "But, I should take a shower first." I mumble, knowing there is no way Peeta would want to even be in the same room with me looking like this. 

I grab a change of clothes and make my way to the bathroom when I hear a knock at the front door. Mom and Dad are— well, I don’t know where they are, but they have a key so they wouldn’t bother knocking. I change course and make my way down the stairs, slightly anxious to find out who is on the other side.

When I open the door, my heart jumps in my chest at the sight of those brilliant blue eyes. But it quickly sinks again when I realize it is not the Mellark I want. Not the one I need.

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Rye |**

“You remember the plan, right?” Dad asks me as I head out the door.

“Yeah Dad, we just went over it less than an hour ago.” I roll my eyes at him and wave him goodbye, making my way over to Katniss’ house. I’m not sure what happened, but the night my brother and Katniss came home, they got into some kind of fight. They haven’t spoken since and Peeta has been miserable. He turned one of the bedrooms into an art studio and spends almost all of his time in there. If it weren’t for me and Dad, I don’t think he’d ever come out.

So, Dad and I came up with a plan to get them back together. Let’s just hope I’m successful.

When Katniss answers the door, her eyes light up for a second before that ever-present scowl is back on her face. I bet she thought I was Peeta for a second, which means this should be easy. I barge in, walking right past her until we are standing in her living room. I meet her eyes, trying to convey the seriousness of my visit, which is not easy, for me at least.

“So, I know you’re excited to see me and all, and you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here at the butt-crack of dawn—” I pause, noticing that Katniss looks like total shit. Her hair is all crazy; like she hasn’t had a shower in days, and I wonder when the last time she ran a brush through that rat’s nest was. “—man, you look like shit!” I chortle, feeling a little sorry for the girl. She’s not faring much better than Peeta is. _Geez, these two are idiots._ I think to myself.

“What do you want Rye?” She barks at me, irritation clouding her features.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Katniss, I uh . . . I need you to go check on Peeta, I'm really worried about him.” I plead with her, losing the joking banter.

When the words slip out of my mouth, I notice she stands a little taller. “Wh— What’s wrong, what did he do?" She asks me, but then quickly redirects her question. "Better yet, what did _you_ do?"

I let out a playful chuckle to hide the fear in my eyes. “Well, Peet’s been so sad and cranky since he came home, I was just trying to bring some life back into him, you know, a little rough housing between brothers; like before. See, he’s always locking himself in that one room, painting and crap. I swear, if me and Dad didn't come by to check on him, I think he might starve to death. And well, I snuck up from behind and pounced on him, and I _guess—”_ I shrug my shoulders, painting an innocent expression on my face. “—it startled him because he had me pinned against the wall, forearm against my throat in less than three seconds; you’d think that fake leg of his would slow him down, but I mean, DAAYYUUMMM is he fast!”

It was no joke. In all the years that Peeta and I have roughed around, add that to all the years we were on the wrestling team, I have never seen him move so fast. His reflexes were lightening quick when he sensed danger. Well, he _thought_ he sensed danger.

Katniss frowns at me and rolls her eyes. “You **_GUESS?_ **And what inspired you to believe it would be a good idea to sneak up on someone who just came home from the games, Rye? You were just asking for it.” I shrug my shoulders and Katniss gives me a smug look. I’m sure by now she’s figured out that my blackened eye was Peeta’s doing.

“Yeah, whatever. That’s not the point. The fact of the matter is I need you to go check on him, think you can do that _Miss_ Girl on Fire?” I use the nickname the nation has granted her with, and she squirms with disgust.

“Don’t call me that. And I uh . . . I don’t think he wants to see me.” She divulges, shrinking back. Okay, so the fight was her fault, huh; not what I expected.

“Trust me, he does. Just . . . just promise me you’ll go check on him. Please, Katniss.” The insistency in my eyes melts away at her armor, and I can tell she’s close to giving in.

“Okay, yeah. Um, I guess I could. In . . . In a little bit I will.” She finally concedes, causing my lips to stretch to my ears.

“Thank you, Katniss.” I am internally doing my happy dance as I lean in and give Katniss a hug. 

I can tell I have caught her off guard when she says, “Oh okay, we’re hugging. This is weird.”

“You’re the best Katniss Everdeen!” I chime as she shoves me out the door.

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Peeta |**

After Katniss stormed out the night we came home, leaving me completely and utterly alone in this massive, gigantic, monstrosity of a house, I had nothing but time on my hands. Time to turn this home into my own, time to think about our games, time to think about everything I know. 

After waking night after night from my nightmares with no escape outlet, I decided to turn one of the bedrooms into an art studio. I seek refuge in there, throwing my nightmares onto a canvas, hoping that if I transfer the images, it can somehow expel them from my mind. I have never been so wrong.

Try as I might, I cannot seem to push the memory of mine and Rye’s “altercation” out of my head. I don't know what I would do without Rye, he is the only one who treats me the same since my return. Dad treats me as if I am royalty, refusing to let me help out in the bakery. Not that mom wants me there. No, she barely speaks to me, and sends me the most acrimonious glares anytime we cross paths. The two times I've seen Graham, he makes certain to convey his distaste for me after the “stories” I told in the arena. He claims I fabricated them from the top of my head, because our mother would _never_ do such atrocious acts. He even went so far as to demand that I make an announcement to the district, refuting the “stories.” 

On the other hand, Holly visits me in secret, assuring me that eventually, he will come around. “Just give him some time Peeta.” Her words echo in my head. “He is blind to your mother’s abuse, which makes it hard for him to see her as anything but perfect.” She told me once. Of course, he is, Mother never laid a hand on him, the golden child he is. Still, I miss him.

But Rye; he still jokes around with me, tries his best to make it seem as if nothing has changed. Until a few days ago, that is. When he snuck from behind me, in an attempt to wrestle like we’ve done a million times before. Except when he pounced on me, I saw Marvel and not Rye. I saw District Four, and not Rye. 

Whoever I saw, it wasn’t my brother when I flipped on him, when I pinned him against the wall. It wasn’t until my eyes were boring into his, his eyes that mirror my own that I snapped out of it. They were laced with so much fear, an emotion I’ve never seen on my brother. I could feel his body trembling underneath me, quaking with fear. He truly thought I was going to kill him, and even I am afraid I might have. What if I hadn’t snapped out of it? Could I have killed my own brother?

Once I snapped out of my delusion and realized it was Rye I had pinned and not Marvel, I broke down and apologized profusely. The jokester that Rye is, played it off as nothing more than two brothers sparring. When he left, he gave me a hug as if nothing had happened, something I am more than grateful for. I don’t know what I would do if he started treating me differently too. He is the only person keeping me sane right now.

Katniss. I miss her so much. I need her and I know she needs me. I have no idea how for seventy-three years victors go home alone with no one to understand their trauma. Sure, in some of the other district's they have other victor's to keep them company, but each arena is different. Each one, a completely new horror. Each one, its very own nightmare.

I am too much of a coward to try and communicate with Katniss the “other” way, afraid she will push me away. I'm not sure if I could handle the rejection. She just needs time; time to realize that I am _always_ on her side, time to understand that I was just trying to get her to see things from a different perspective. Time. It seems to be the answer to everything.

Mr. Undersee still has not reached out to Madge and she is becoming more anxious by the day. She lives in the mayor’s mansion with the new interim mayor, her husband and daughter. But she spends the majority of her time elsewhere, claiming that without her parents there, it no longer feels like home. She is terrified of the moment a peacekeeper seeks her out to inform her of their deaths. I want to assure her that it won’t happen, but I've never lied to her and I don't intend to start now.

After splattering an array of colors onto yet another canvas, I realize I am covered in paint and figure I better change clothes. The sooner I wash my clothes from the paint, the less likely they are to stain. I make my way across the hall and into my bedroom, peeling my shirt off and tossing it into the pile of dirty laundry when I hear a knock on the door. Forgetting about my state of half-nudity, I make my way downstairs, cursing these damn steps. While I am slowly becoming more accustomed with my new leg, I still struggle with things like stairs.

When I open the door, I am momentarily taken aback when it is Katniss’ beautiful grey orbs staring back at me, beaming with love. 

**| Katniss |**

Once Rye is gone, I crawl back upstairs and make my way into the shower. There is no way I can approach Peeta looking the way I do. Peeta knows I have never been the type of girl who cares much about my appearance, but I still don't think he would appreciate me bringing the rat's nest that is currently in my hair into his home. I guess that's what happens when you do nothing but lie in bed for two consecutive weeks. After being so miserable without Peeta for the last sixteen days, (Yes, I have been counting) I have come to the realization that a life without Peeta is a life I do not wish to have. 

After the fourth time I've gone out the door; only to turn right back around and come back inside, I tell myself to stop being a coward and just go. Prim is right, I need to know either way. If he hates me and never wants to see me again, I need to know that as well. It will give me peace of mind one way or the other.

I am not sure how long I stand on Peeta’s doorstep, hovering my hand over the four inches of wood that separate us, when I finally get the nerve and pound my fist on the door. My heart is racing, afraid of what he will say to me. Will he tell me to go away, will he slam the door in my face, will he—

“Katniss.” The sound of my name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver up my spine. Peeta runs his hand through his tousled waves, something I know he does when he is nervous. My eyes meet his and I seemed to have forgotten how to speak. But this is not what has me rendered speechless. Peeta is without a shirt, well, actually, he has a shirt, it is just clutched in his hand and not on his body. I have never seen him without a shirt, and . . . wow. He must be working out because I can clearly see the defined muscles across his chest. I want to reach out and—

I shake my head, hoping that my gawking wasn’t as obvious as it felt and meet Peeta’s eyes when I am filled with a sudden rage at the sight of his blackened eye. The faded bluish and yellow colors of the bruise does not match the one Rye was sporting earlier, which means—

Momentarily forgetting my purpose for coming over here, I blurt out, “What happened to your eye?”

“I uh— bumped into something.” He stammers, alerting me to his deception.

“Oh, hell no, she does _NOT_ get to get away with this!” I yell, my body filling with ire. Turning my back to Peeta, I storm down the steps and run as fast as I can until I reach the bakery.

I waltz through the door as if I own the place to see the witch restocking the pastry case. I sprint over the counter, not caring in the least that I have scattered what looks like important papers all over the counter. And then, I am face to face with the abusive woman who has the audacity to call herself a mother.

“Who do you think you are?” I demand, shoving my finger in her face, almost nose to nose with the woman. I think I see a glimpse of fear flit through her eyes for a moment before she raises her voice to me.

“Who do you think _YOU_ are, you filthy seam scum, brat?” Mr. Mellark and Rye are standing at the far end of the bakery, smirking to each other just as the door chimes, signaling a customer has entered. It's not a customer thought, it's Peeta. He is huffing and puffing, out of breath from the trek over here, and sadly, he managed to get his shirt on before chasing after me.

“Katniss, stop; it wasn’t her.” Peeta pants, trying to catch his breath.

“You said— you said, ‘you ran into something’ and that always means—” I admonish, remembering the last time he ‘ _ran into a door.’_

“I ran into Haymitch’s fist.” He admits, looking shamefully at the ground.

“Oh.” Is all I can think to say as I back up from Mrs. Mellark. But then I see a great opportunity and quickly return to being up in her face.

“Well, let this be your warning, then. If you so much as even _think_ of laying a finger on him . . . on . . . on so much as a _single_ hair on his head—” I sneer at her through my gritted teeth and then she interrupts me.

“What are you going to do, you decrepit little half breed, seam scum brat!” She snarls back in my face, not backing down. Almost instantly, Peeta is in-between us, pushing us back with a hand on each of our chests.

“Mother, stop it or—” Peeta warns her, narrowing his eyes in her direction.

“Or what? You’ll do what? Nothing is what you’ll do, same as you’ve always done!”

“Or . . . I won’t stop her.” Peeta says, almost growling as he tosses his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to me.

Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I back away from Mrs. Mellark, and then slowly turn to leave, but then spin around to meet her eyes again. “And I’m sure you know this because you’ve seen my squirrels firsthand; I get them straight through the eye, _every_ single time.” I glare at her, sending her my most vicious scowl. She does not need to know that the sight of a squirrel terrifies the living daylights out of me, that just the sight of their fluffy tails can send me cowering into the nearest corner like a scared little girl.

With my heart racing in my chest, I exit the bakery, but I don’t leave. Instead, I stand outside, pressing my back against the brick wall. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to get my heart rate to return to normal while I wait for Peeta.

“It’s all your fault you sorry, pathetic excuse of a boy. I wish your father had let me smother you when you were a baby like I wanted to!” I overhear the witch scream to Peeta. Did she really— no, she didn't mean that. She is just trying to hurt Peeta because she's mad.

"Wha— what did you say?" Peeta asks, his voice sounding so small.

"Or better yet, you should have eaten those berries. You and your Seam tramp. Then I'd never have to be reminded of what a worthless, sorry excuse of a son you are!" Oh my God. How can she say that about Peeta? How can she wish him dead? He is the most amazing, wonderful, kind and caring human being I have ever met. Well, besides Prim. But . . . how could any parent say that to their child? I know my father and I aren't exactly speaking right now, but I cannot even imagine—

The door chimes and Peeta flies past me. "Peeta!" I call his name and he turns around. His eyes are pooled with unshed tears, breaking my heart. "Are you okay?"

"I can't Katniss . . . I don't want to talk about it. But . . . what the hell was that?" He demands and I have to quicken my pace to keep up with him. Guilt washes through me at how adept Peeta has become with his prosthesis.

“I saw your eye; I thought your mom— because you said—”

“So, you don’t speak to me for sixteen days, and then what, you decide to . . . defend my honor?” I am powerless to prevent the corners of my lips from turning up knowing that he has been counting too.

“I . . . I came over because I wanted to talk to you Peeta.” I tell him, not recognizing my small, weary voice. His eyes soften by the time we reach his house.

“You want to come in?” He asks me. I nod my head eagerly, almost too eagerly.

“Yes . . . I— I would like that.” I give him a timid smile and follow him inside.

We stop in the living room, awkwardly staring at each other for a moment before Peeta breaks the silence. “Do you want something to drink?” He asks me, already making his way toward the kitchen before giving me a chance to answer.

“Peeta, stop. Please come here.” I beg him, my words come out in a whine. The insistency in my voice causes him to stop, and he turns to face me. And then, I can’t take it anymore, I have missed him so much. I need him. I know I am taking a chance, but it’s out of my control when I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his back, pulling his body into mine.

“I’m sorry Peeta, I am so sorry, will you . . . can you forgive me? I was . . . I was stupid and stubborn, I was, no, I _AM_ an idiot. Peeta, please—” I beg him “—I can’t— I can’t stand this distance, I— I need you, Peeta.” I mumble into his shirt, fisting the fabric in my hands and use it to dry my tears. All the while, I am afraid he is going to push me away and tell me to get out, to go away and never come back. But then slowly, I feel his arms circling my back. 

Pulling back to meet his eyes, I test our other form of communication out for the first time in weeks. I have been too chicken to even attempt speaking to him this way for the last sixteen days, and I am terrified time has made it null and void.

_‘I love you Peeta. I am a jerk and an idiot . . . I'm selfish and stupid and . . . and I'll . . . I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and proving how much I love you, just please, please, can you forgive me?’_ It feels as if hours pass instead of just seconds as I anticipate his response. For a fraction of a second I am scared that our connection has been severed, when I hear his voice in my head.

_‘Oh, Katniss.’_ He pulls me close, burying his face in the crook of my neck. Before I know it, Peeta reunites our lips, lightly tracing his tongue across my bottom lip before his tongue plunges into my mouth. I savor the taste of him, having missed this so much. Having missed _him_ so much.

He leads us to the sofa, our lips never breaking apart. He positions a pillow behind my head and guides me to lie back, situating himself on top of me. Words cannot even begin to describe how incredible Peeta's skin feels touching mine.

The sheer ecstasy of our skin colliding does nothing to prepare me for the insatiable pleasure I receive from Peeta's tongue dancing around in my mouth. Lying under his firm chest is the happiest I've been since returning home. His kisses do things to my insides and the heat spreads throughout my body, reaching places I never knew existed.

Peeta must be as aroused as I am because he inadvertently grinds into my pelvis, causing an erotic moan to escape from my lips. It is a sound I wasn't even aware that I was capable of making. He pulls back, and my eyes open from the devastating feeling of our severed connection. His eyes are no longer the bright, carefree blue they normally are, but dark, burning with an intense desire, as if he is a starving man.

After another moment of eye-gazing, Peeta once again slams his lips against mine. Reflexively, I wrap my legs around his hips, wanting more, needing more. We are a tangled mess of arms and legs, making out like teenagers on the couch. Which I guess makes sense, since technically, we _are_ teenagers. I nearly fall off the sofa when we hear a loud bang on the front door.

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Haymitch |**

"Open up kid, I need your help!" I yell through the door, pounding loud enough to wake the dead.

Finally, the door opens, and the kid looks flustered. His hair is a mess, and he looks guilty. Dammit, what the hell has he done now? "What do you want Haymitch?" He scoffs, seeming more irritated than usual.

“Damn, who pissed in your cornflakes?” I ask, pushing my way past him. I am surprised when I catch a glimpse of the girl cowering behind a pillow cushion on the couch. No wonder he looked all frazzled and embarrassed, looks like the love birds finally kissed and made up. "Like I said when I was banging on your door; I need your help." I glance over to the girl, briefly meeting her eyes, letting her know I am speaking to her as well.

"Help with what? Did you run out of spirit’s again? Haymitch, I told you—"

"It's Madge. “I stop him before he finishes his sentence, not wanting to rehash that conversation again. The girl instantly pops out of her hiding spot behind the couch at the mention of her friend's name.

"What's wrong with Madge, is she okay?" Katniss interrogates me, rushing over to the foyer to get her shoes on.

"You can come too sweetheart, the peacekeepers went to the school to break the news about her parents, and . . . she's a mess . . . crying on the floor, no one can get her up.” 

“Wait a minute, what? What about her parents?” The boy asks as he laces his shoes up.

"How did you find out? And . . . what happened to Madge's mom and dad?" The girl asks me on our trek to the school.

"You didn't hear?" She scowls at me, obviously she hasn't heard, otherwise, she wouldn't be glaring daggers at me.

"There was an _‘accident’_ , an explosion or something on their way to the Capitol. No survivors. And . . . and I guess Ric put me down as her emergency contact, so when no one could get her to stop crying, I guess they called me to see if I could help."

"Did you even try?" The boy insinuates. Sweetheart and I slow our pace since Peeta still hasn't completely mastered the art of walking in that fancy leg of his.

I narrow my eyes at the boy, “I’m not an idiot. Of course, I tried. She’s just . . . she’s damn near hysterical.”

“Well, can you blame her? Why would the peacekeeper’s just go to the school and give her the news like that? She needed someone to be there with her. God, they’re just freakin’ idiots.” Sweetheart gripes, and I can just imagine the blood beginning to simmer under her skin.

I see the school just around the corner and hope like hell the idiots in charge have cleared the cafeteria. Just before I left to fetch my kids to see if they could be of any use, the cafeteria was full of kids, gawking intrusively at Madge. The poor girl doesn’t need an audience, that’s for sure. When we reach the school, the kids lead us to a side entrance that opens into the cafeteria where thankfully, someone has gotten all the other kids out and sealed the room off. 

The moment we step inside Katniss gasps at the sight of her friend. She rushes to Madge’s side, drops to her knees and begins to rub Madge's back. "Madge, Madge, hey Madge, it's Katniss."

Both of my kids try with all their might to get some kind of response from Madge but come up empty each time. And then we hear a deep voice reverberating from the other side of the door, demanding to be let through. Seconds later, the double doors swing open with Sweetheart’s ‘cousin’, Gale. Gale’s face is red, he looks angry. Angry and sweaty, like he ran all the way here or something. When his eyes land on Madge, his anger dissipates, replaced with worry.

“I’m sorry Mr. Abernathy, he insisted—” The principal pleads. I guess I scared her when I chewed her out for allowing all the other kids to stay in the cafeteria.

“It’s fine.” I tell her, motioning her to shut the doors.

Gale runs over to Madge, drops his chest to the floor so that they are eye level with each other, their noses almost touching.

"Madge, can you hear me?" My kids share an inquisitive look as they watch Gale talk softly to Madge, trying his best to coax any form of recognition from her, but she is just too upset. Like me, they pick up on the gentle, loving way that he interacts at her. Accepting defeat after an hour, Gale sits up and looks at Katniss.

"I'll take her home." He says barely above a whisper. "With me, I mean." He doesn’t wait for anyone to give him permission before he scoops Madge into his arms. Katniss stands up first and extends her hand to Peeta, helping him up. The five of us exit out of the side door.

“Hey kid!” I yell to Gale who is already making a beeline to the Seam. He turns around and raises an eyebrow.

“Me?”

“Yeah, sorry. I call everyone ‘kid’. Do you need anything? I can help you carry her. Or I uh, should we bring her some clothes? I mean, I don’t know, you tell me what you need, I don’t know what the hell to do.”

“Yeah, maybe mom should take a look at her?” The girl suggests, motioning to a still crying Madge.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, that would probably be good. Why don’t you send your mom if she’s available, and you can uh, give her some of Madge’s clothes to bring with her or whatever. I’m sure Ma’s got the basics.”

“Okay Gale, we’ll go straight to my house and I’ll have either Mom or Prim come by.”

“Thanks Catnip.” Gale forces a smile, gives a slight tip of his head and turns around to leave.

The three of us are all shocked for a moment, stunned into silence as we watch the back of Gale as he carries Madge toward the Seam.

"When did _that_ happen?" I ask my kids, motioning over to Gale once we start walking toward Victor’s Village.

"While we were gone." The girl replies.

**_| A few weeks later |_ **

We were told there were no remains recovered at the scene of the accident when the news of the mayor and his wife came about. We held a small service anyway, with just close friends and family. Rose immediately took Madge under her wing while she was in shock; I tried but she refused. She doesn’t need to be with a screwed up drunk like me anyway. 

When I placed the order for Ric and Grace’s headstones, I ordered three. One for Ric, one for Maysilee, and one for Grace. Since the Capitol already knows about the switch, I didn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t have the correct markers placed with the correct graves. Now when I visit _my_ Grace, I can look at her real name. 

I don’t know if she can hear me when I speak to her, but I like to imagine she can. I like to think she’s at peace somewhere beautiful and serene. Not beautiful like our arena, but real beauty, true beauty. Somewhere where there are no arena’s, no evil dictator’s throwing children into a cage to fight until the death. Somewhere where kids can be kids and run around, carefree. Where their next worry is what game to play with their friends instead of worrying about how many times their name is in the reaping ball, or where to get their next meal.

“What are you doing here?” When I raise up from my crouching position to make my way home, it is Dylan that I find staring back at me.

“I was just . . . trying to clear my head.” He tells me, kicking a rock and looking to the ground.

“The girl still mad at you?” I still can’t bring myself to use their names; sometimes it slips out though.

“Eehh.” He squeaks out, lifting his hand and moving it from side to side as if to say “somewhat.”

“Well, I mean . . . can you blame her?”

“No. I mean, I knew she would be angry Haymitch, she has every right to be. I am angry at myself; I can’t believe I did that to her. I— I hate myself Haymitch.”

“Dylan, you didn’t have a choice, it was going to happen whether you gave the okay or not.”

His face twists into a scowl, his eyes burning with a kind of rage. "That doesn’t make me feel any better. Anyway, I only agreed so I would be on the _inside,_ so, why do I still feel like I'm still standing on the outside looking in? Have you heard anything?"

“No chatter on my end since last time.”

_The day after we were informed about the explosion on the tracks that killed Ric and Grace, we held an emergency meeting in the tunnels. Dylan informed me that during my time in the Capitol, he brought Bing into the fold and the three of us made our way into the tunnels. It was too dangerous for Poppy or Raven to be seen mingling with “the locals” so I decided to keep them out of this one._

_“What does all of this mean? Was this a warning, are our families in danger?” Dylan rumbles question after question once we are deep enough in the tunnels._

_“I don’t think this has anything to do with us. Grace made a confession to Madge one night and the Capitol overheard it. She didn’t know there were listening devices in the house, so . . .” I tell Bing and Dylan nods, grimacing as he remembers the events._

_“Are you sure, I mean, what kind of confession could have resulted in death?” Bing inquires and I look over to Dylan, meeting his eyes. He shakes his head, letting me know that Bing doesn’t know about anything._

_“Long story short, she had a twin sister who went into the arena for her. It was the year of the Quell and the charter stated that no volunteers were permitted. Basically, they switched identities.” I leave out the part about Gracie, the real Gracie being the love of my life._

_Bing’s eyes grow huge, bewildered beyond belief._

_“Hello gentleman.” Out of nowhere, Poppy appears from one of the side tunnels with a lantern in her hand, startling the three of us._

_“What the hell is_ **she** _doing here?” Bing demands, pointing to Poppy; oblivious to the true nature of her identity._

_“It’s okay Bing, she’s one of us.” Dylan explains._

_“She’s from the Capitol— and her husband is a damned sponsor!”_

_“Undercover.” Poppy refutes, not seeming the slightest bit offended._

_“He was also a sponsor who tried to help save the kids’ lives.” I’m not sure why I feel compelled to defend him._

_“I’ll explain later.” Dylan promises him, sharing an assuring glance with the baker._

_I nod to Poppy, urging her to proceed. “I received word from Plutarch after he spoke to_ **her**. _Miss Coin has advised us to lay low, to do nothing that may arouse Snow's suspicions. Basically, she wants us to go through the motions of our everyday lives. Miss Coin believes that now is not the time.” I force a frown onto my lips to hide the smile from Poppy's intentional use of "Miss Coin" and refusing to refer to her as "President."_

_“What the fuck does that mean? Why is_ SHE _calling the shots? What gives her the right?” Bing shouts, clearly outraged. I wonder who his anger is_ **actually** _directed towards._

_"The overconfident Miss Coin believes herself to hold all the power. As the leader of Thirteen, she is in control of when and how their resources are dispersed, or even_ **IF** _they are dispersed at all. And we need her. So, we must play by her rules, or at the very least, make it appear as if we are abiding by her demands." Poppy explains seriously. However, I see the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth, and immediately recognize that mischievous grin._

_"I thought_ **SHE** _needed_ **OUR** _kids, not the other way around." Bing refutes, pointing to himself and Dylan._

_"Bing, you need to take a chill pill. Poppy is here to help. Right now, we need Coin more than she needs the kids, and we need her to think we are being good little soldiers and following her commands. Right now, our main job is to stay alive; to keep our kids alive.” I convey, recalling one of my first conversations with my kids._ ‘Stay Alive.’

_My words seem to have the desired effect on Bing and I see his shoulders relax._

_"However, I have never been the best at following the orders of any dictator." Poppy says mysteriously, arousing all of our attention._

_"Please, Mayor Kadinski, enlighten us, if you will." I say, holding my hand out in a gesture for her to continue._

_“Doing nothing will do absolutely that; nothing. If the consensus is to unite the districts, then we must ask ourselves, how can we achieve this goal? Because uniting the districts will not happen just because we wish it so. On the contrary, if no one is allowed to travel beyond their own district, that poses a problem, wouldn’t you say? Which leaves—”_

_“No. Absolutely not. No more using our kids as your damn puppets.” Dylan grumbles in a hushed whisper, yet I can hear the rage laced in his voice._

_“So, let’s tell them.” Poppy suggests._

_“No, they’re not ready.” I affirm, not sure if they will ever be ready to keep that kind of secret._

_“Haymitch, maybe—” Dylan begins, but I quickly stop him._

_“No. What if anything got back to the Capitol? What if Snow captured Katniss or Peeta, how long do you think it would take Snow to get every bit of knowledge she has. All it would take is one name and she’d spill all our secrets.” I immediately denounce his idea to share our plans with the kids._

_“Primrose.” Dylan frowns, realizing I am right._

_"I'm sorry, but I just don't think it's safe to tell them anything yet. It's just too dangerous. The best and safest way to keep us all alive is to keep them in the dark. At least for now." I say, turning to Dylan and Bing apologetically._

_Sensing the tension in the air, Poppy looks at me and redirects our attention. “As I was saying, when you guys go on tour, Katniss and Peeta will be supplied with Capitol-dialogued speeches for each district. But think about the effect it would have on the people in the districts to hear them speak from their hearts, to show remorse and sympathy for the families of the fallen tributes. I believe that should be our next step, but I shall leave it up to you—” She pauses to look at Dylan and Bing. “—to decide, since you are their parents. But know this; in doing so, you are putting your own lives at risk. I have a feeling they will be warned prior to the tour and will receive instructions to do anything they must to calm the districts, and any off step could result in . . . consequences.” Poppy says, consequences meaning “death”._

_“We all knew what we were signing up for.” I articulate but look to the others to make sure we are all on the same page. They both give a slight nod of their heads, understanding the repercussions._

_"So, it's settled. We don’t tell them anything. At the very least, we give them the bare necessities to get us through this tour. I don’t think it will be a problem getting them to speak their truth when we’re on tour. The girl just doesn’t like to be told what to do; she tends to always veer towards the opposite of what someone . . . anyone suggests.” I confirm to Dylan, remembering my instructions for her to run_ **away** _from the cornucopia at the bloodbath._

_“Dammit.” Dylan and Bing say in unison, knowing my words hold merit._

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Gale |**

It’s been a little more than two weeks since we found out about the mayor and his wife. Madge, as stubborn as she is, applied for a dwelling and the peacekeepers only allowed it when Rose advocated for her. But the asshats they are, stuck her with the smallest, most dilapidated home in the Seam and she now lives next door to my family and across from Rose. I think they thought it would be ironic to stick the previously most privileged girl from town into the poorest part of our district. Little do they know; it is exactly where Madge wanted to be. 

Ma seems to have taken a keen liking to Madge, as she has become an intricate part of our daily lives. I think Ma was afraid that Madge would retreat into herself if she didn't have a purpose, so Ma talked her into being a sort of caretaker for Posie. 

During the games, Posie and Madge naturally gravitated toward each other and that bond has only strengthened since Madge’s closer proximity. More often than not, when I get home from work, Madge is either snuggled on the couch with Posie, their noses stuck in a book, or planted in the kitchen helping Ma prepare dinner. Vick and Rory were a little hesitant at first, but I think all the time Madge spent with us during the games gave them time to warm up to her. And I have to admit, there is something about seeing Madge so naturally blend with my family that fills my insides with a strange warmth and causes my stomach to flutter uneasily.

However, something is different today, because when I get home from my shift in the mines, all of my siblings are home, as they always are. However, they seem to be without any supervision. Posie and Vick are running around and chasing each other; playing tag. While Rory is slumped sideways in the recliner with his feet dangling over the arms, reading a book. Neither Ma nor Madge is anywhere in sight. I feel as if a dark cloud is looming over my head as my heart sinks into my stomach.

I should not have dismissed Madge when she told me she feared the President would retaliate after learning the truth about her mother. I could kick myself for ignoring her suspicions, because she was right. And now, I seem to find myself constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid of finding _myself_ in some kind of _“unfortunate predicament."_

“Where’s Ma?” I ask Rory, the only one not running wild. I cock my head to the side and smirk when I read the title of his book. “The First Coalminer’s of District Twelve.” It’s bullshit if you ask me, nothing but lies the Capitol wants to drill into our brains, they probably made most of it up.

“I don’t know, she said she was going to check on Madge when we got home from school and hasn’t come home yet, so she’s probably still there.” Rory tells me, not seeming the least bit worried when he looks up from his book and shrugs his shoulders.

“Okay, I'm going to go over and check on them.” I tell him, hiding my anxiety as I turn around to leave, but quickly turn back to face him. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, I'm heating up some leftovers and the kids are playing tag.” He tells me proudly. He said he wanted more responsibility, and I almost can’t believe he’s actually stepping up. Smiling, I give him a smirk and a pat on his back before heading out the door. As I walk the short distance to cross the lawn to Madge’s house, I wonder when my little brother grew up.

Madge probably has the smallest home in the seam. It has one bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a conjoined living room and kitchen that is no bigger than her tiny bedroom. Meaning, it shouldn’t be hard to hear me, no matter which room they are in.

My heart skips a beat when I see Madge’s front door slightly ajar. Slowly, and with my heart full of dread, I push it the rest of the way open, almost scared of what I might find. Once the door is open, I scan the room and take in the sight before me, my heart beginning to race out of control.

Ma is positioned, “crisscross-applesauce” as Posie calls it, on the floor in the center of the living room, holding a hysterically bawling, sobbing Madge in her arms. Madge is curled up in Ma’s lap, in the fetal position. She is clutching her stomach as she cries an ocean of tears. I don’t see any blood, so I take that as a good sign, but with the way Madge is crying, you would think at the very least that something was broken. 

The expression on Ma's face is a relieved one; relieved to see me, I think. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Ma has been crying too. “Gale! Oh, thank God! I need—”

Instantly, I drop to my knees and rush to Ma's side.

“What’s wrong, is she okay? Is she hurt, are _you_ hurt?” I interrupt Ma, taking notice of her worried and disheveled expression.

“Gale, I need you to run to Victor’s Village and get Lilly.”

“But—”

“Now Gale!” She insists, shooing me out the door. I don't waste another second and run as fast as I can until I finally reach Victor’s Village. It’s pitch-black outside, making it hard for me to ascertain the differences in the three occupied houses. I try to remember which house is Catnip's and decide to go for the one with all the lights on. 

I am huffing and puffing, severely out of breath when Mrs. E answers the door. It takes me a moment to catch my breath, but once I do, I explain about Madge and that Ma asked for her help. Mrs. E invites me inside, but I politely decline and wait outside while she gathers her supplies. I have no desire to step foot inside of this _box_ the Capitol created.

When she finally re-emerges less than five minutes later, I am surprised to see Prim with her. Prim carries the medical bag and the three of us jog toward the Seam to Madge’s house. When we finally get to Madge’s, I frown when I see Ma in the exact same position as when I left. I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps I was hoping Madge had calmed down, at least _some_ by now.

“Oh Lilly!" Ma shrieks, exasperated with relief. "I— I came over here to check on her because she wasn't at the house by her usual time and found her like this, I haven’t been able to calm her down, she has been hysterical for nearly three hours now.” Ma looks at the clock on the wall, confirming how long she’s been here with Madge. She rambles her words out so fast that when she’s finished, she has to suck in a deep breath before she meets Mrs. E's eyes.

Mrs. E lowers herself to the ground until she is eye level with Madge. Her voice radiates with a firm, authoritative tone, yet it is also with a kind gentleness. Prim does the same, but on the other side of Madge and while stroking her hair. I do not think in all my years of knowing the Everdeen’s, I have ever seen Prim look so worried.

“Madge, can you tell me what’s wrong? Is something hurting you?”

Ma shakes her head and looks at Mrs. E. “No, I checked her over, I don’t think—” Ma begins, but I think she realizes that Mrs. E is just trying to get Madge to focus on something, to pull her out of the hysteria.

Madge locks eyes with Mrs. E and I can clearly see the pain etched in her eyes. She tries to speak, but it comes out all warbled and no one can seem to understand her. They try for at least half an hour to coax something out of Madge but keep getting nowhere. 

“Mom, I think . . . This isn’t working, I think we need to sedate her.” Prim advises her mother and I frown. Prim is barely twelve years old, what can she know?

“It— won't . . . stop— please . . . make . . . it . . . stop.” I can barely make out Madge's words, but her eyes are begging Mrs. E to end the suffering. To do something; anything to make it stop. I feel so small and helpless right now. The girl I am in love with is in so much pain and I am powerless to help her. I don't know what to do as I stand here completely at a loss.

“I found this next to her.” Ma holds up a sketch of Madge and her dad. Their faces are squished next to each other with giant smiles and hands it to Mrs. E.

From the corner of her eye, I think Madge notices the exchange and her wails grow in intensity. Mrs. E meets Prim’s eyes with a nod and discreetly hands the sketch to Prim who slides it onto the side table next to her, face down.

“Madge, are you allergic to any medications?” Madge tries, unsuccessfully to stop crying, meeting Mrs. E’s eyes and shakes her head, denying any allergies. 

"Prim, will you hand me the med bag?" Prim swiftly rummages through the giant duffel bag and pulls out an identical, but miniature version of the same bag and hands it to her mother. Mrs. E unzips the top, scanning the assortment of medications until she spots the one she is looking for. I watch intently as she unscrews the cap from the bottle and wipes it off before retrieving a syringe. She carefully opens the syringe and pokes the needle into the top of the glass bottle and turns it upside down. I don't know why, but first she empties the air from the syringe into the medication before pulling it back and measuring the correct dose. Then she removes the syringe and tosses the glass bottle containing who knows what back into the duffel bag. She holds the syringe up and flicks it with her fingers, releasing any remaining air.

“Oh sweetie, I am so sorry you’re going through this.” Mrs. E says sympathetically, stroking Madge’s hair. “You're going to feel better soon okay? I promise. I am going to give you a sedative to help calm you, okay? But I just want to warn you, it will probably put you to sleep.” Mrs. E speaks gently, calmly, and confidently to Madge. She sounds so certain; I think she could tell us that the moon was only a mile away and even I would be hard pressed not to believe her.

With her wet face, swollen and puffy eyes, Madge supplies Mrs. E with an eager nod, almost begging her to end her suffering. Prim pulls the neck of Madge’s dress down to reveal her shoulder and then Mrs. E wipes her skin clean with the same kind of disinfectant pad she used to clean the top of the medication bottle and injects the medication into Madge’s bicep. Madge’s eyes take on a glassy hue just before they close. I watch as all of her pain disintegrates and then her body falls slack, collapsing in Ma’s arms.

“Some sleep will do her good.” Mrs. E says, shoveling her supplies back into the medical bag.

Ma pulls Madge close to her, holding her like you might hold a baby and places a kiss to her temple. With this simple gesture, I see that I am not the only one to have fallen in love with Madge. “Bless her heart, I think she saw that picture and it must have upset her; sent her into that fit. I tried to calm her down, but when it became clear that nothing I did was going to help her, I tried— but every time I tried to leave, she just clung tighter to me and only cried harder. I couldn’t— I just didn’t have the heart to leave her so, I just held her and hoped someone would come—”

“You did the right thing Hazelle; I’m just glad Gale came when he did; poor thing must be exhausted from all that crying. I gave her a small dose of morphling; it's the only thing I have strong enough and that resembles the effects of a sedative, so she’ll most likely be out for the night.” Mrs. E assures Ma, but then continues. “I would feel better if I took her home to be observed. I don’t know much about morphling and I have no clue how it will affect her— and then there are the possible side effects.”

“Would you mind if we brought her home with us? It would ease my mind if I could keep an eye on her, and—” Ma turns her head to look at me, “—Gale and I can take turns watching her throughout the night.” Ma asks, waiting for my confirmation. Locked with Ma’s eyes, I nod, feeling a gush of relief wash throughout my body. If Ma hadn’t suggested this, I would probably cave in to my ego and spend the night at the Everdeen’s to look over Madge.

“I don’t know Hazelle, I would feel awful if something happened and I wasn’t—”

“I promise you Lilly, between Gale and I, we will have eyes on her all night, we’ll watch her in shifts so that she is never alone. And if anything were to happen, Gale can make it to Victor’s Village in twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen.” I add, hoping that helps to ease Mrs. E’s mind.

“Okay, I suppose that would be okay. Either Prim or I will stop by in the morning to check on her. Hopefully she will be feeling better, I know the girls have missed her.” Mrs. E says, giving Prim a sad smile.

“Ma, if it’s okay, I’ll carry Madge home now.” Hearing me say the word “home” sends Ma into a panic, worrying about the kids. I scoop Madge up from Ma’s arms and give her a reassuring look. “They’re okay, Rory seemed to have it under control.”

“Lilly, Prim, thank you so much for coming right away, I don’t know what I would have done—” Are the last words I hear from them before I make my way across the lawn and to our house, tucking Madge safely into my bed.

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Peeta |**

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” Katniss storms into my house, slamming the door shut behind her. Her eyes are seething with fury. But that isn’t what told me she was festering with rage. No, it was the stream of curse words that I heard in my head as she made the trek over here. She tosses her bags in the corner of the foyer and I can almost see the steam shooting from her ears. “Katniss, talk to me. Please.” I beg her, trying to coax her out of this state.

She uses my shoulder to balance while she removes her shoes, still avoiding eye contact. Once her shoes are off, she slides them against the wall before our eyes meet. Her squinted eyes are full of tears and I know she is past the point of enraged. Katniss almost never cries, and when she does, it is almost never from sadness.

“They . . . he . . . mom . . .” She is a stuttering mess, causing me to become more confused by the minute.

“Katniss, take a deep breath.” I instruct her, knowing this is the only way I’m going to be able to get anything out of her. She isn’t so angry that she refuses my help as she inhales a lung full of air.

“Hold it.” I tell her, mimicking the actions and slowly count to ten.

“Now, out. Slowly.” I mirror how I want her to release the air by pursing my lips and releasing the air.

“Better?” Closing her eyes, she nods. “Let’s sit.” She accepts my hand as we walk to the sofa and sit on opposite cushions, facing each other. “Okay, tell me what happened, because I’m kind of freaking out here.”

She takes another cleansing breath before continuing. “I went home to get some clean clothes and my parents were there. Waiting for me; I guess to tell me how inappropriate it is for me to be sleeping over here. They don’t want me to—” My heart sinks in my chest, I don’t think I would make it if Katniss wasn’t by my side during the night. Those first sixteen days after coming home nearly killed me, and I just . . . no, I can’t. 

Except I know **_my_** Katniss, and I know she will not be forced into anything she doesn’t want to do. She also isn’t the type of person that will allow others to tell her what to do. Squirming in my seat I almost feel sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Everdeen.

“Wh-What did you tell them?” I stammer, terrified of her response, or well, more like the outcome.

“I told them that **_they_** are a guest in **_MY_** house and if they don’t like what I do, then feel free to leave it.” She crosses her arms, holding her head indignantly.

“You didn’t?” I exclaim, my eyes growing wide at her admission.She gives me a mischievous smirk and nods.

“I did. I mean, there was a lot more yelling and slamming of doors, but yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

As much as I appreciate her standing up to her parents, I don’t want to be the reason for more tension between them. “Katniss, I—”

“I know Peeta, I know. I acted like a stubborn little spoiled brat and I’ll talk to them. Later. But Peeta, I’m not going to let them tell me, I mean, I will **NOT** let them keep you from me. It’s not an option.” She asserts, staring into my eyes. Her mind is made up and she will not be swayed.

I pull her into my arms and hold her. We pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist, that it’s just us; at least for a little while.

Katniss and I live in our little bubble of perfection for three days before Mrs.— I mean Lilly knocked on my door. I was at the bakery with my father and Rye, and Katniss made certain to keep her thoughts private from me that day. However, the moment I walked through the door, Katniss explained how her mom came over here, bribing her with cookies just to listen to her. 

_“Can you believe it Peeta? She came over here with_ COOKIES! _Of all things to bribe me with, you’d think she could think of something better than_ cookies _.”_

_“Yeah, she should know better. No one makes better cookies than me. Anyway, so what was her proposition?”_

_“Here, try one.” I take the cookie from Katniss, turning it over in my hand and inspecting it._

_“Yeah, it doesn’t taste much better either.” Katniss grins at me, noticing the peculiar way I examine my cookie._

_“Well, first I explained to her_ **WHY** _I need to be here. About the nightmares, you know.” Yes, I do know._

_“Once I explained that to her, she wasn’t quite as uptight. She said if we just wanted to be together, she— well, she offered for you to stay over there with us. But then I reminded her . . . well, you know.” She reminded her of the sixteen days we spent apart and how Katniss woke everyone in the house, kicking and thrashing from her nightmares. Not to mention the ear-splitting screams._

_“So, finally we came to an understanding. A sort of ‘happy medium’ I guess.”_

_“Okay, so what is it? You’re killing me here.”_

_“I spend my ‘days’ at home, and you can come too if you want. I told them you normally leave before the sun is up to help your dad at the bakery and usually aren’t home until mid-afternoon. So, that kind of works out perfectly. But then, well, Dad says this part is non-negotiable. We eat dinner together every night. We can alternate houses, but between the time when Prim gets home from school until after dinner, we spend it together.”_

_I can tell how nervous she is by the way her words tumble so quickly out of her mouth, in addition to the anxious way she fidgets with her fingers._

_“That’s not unreasonable. I think that sounds . . . normal. You know, when we first came home my dad mentioned Sunday dinners.”_

_“You’re not mad?”_

_“No, why would I be mad?”_

_“I don’t know, I just thought . . . it doesn’t matter what I thought. Come on, let’s go tell them.”_

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Katniss |**

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” I stand up from the tree stump I was sitting on when I see Gale. He gives me a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, frowning when he doesn’t seem to hear me.

“Huh, what? Oh, yeah, the kids are good.” He tells me as we make our way deeper into the woods.

“I didn’t say anything about any kids Gale. What’s wrong? You weren’t even listening to me.”

“It’s nothing. Come on, I think I see something over there.” Gale picks up his speed and heads over to one of his snares.

I let it go; for now and follow Gale to one of his snare lines. It’s a rabbit. Gale removes it from the trap, then stops to look at me. He opens his mouth to say something but then shakes his head.

Changing his mind again, he meets my eyes, almost glaring at me. “How could you do it Catnip?”

“Do what?” I ask him, confused.

“Threaten to commit suicide for Baker Boy. To kill yourself and leave Prim. Leave me, your family. _For HIM_? You made a promise to your sister; I mean . . . I just . . . I don’t know who you are anymore.”

I can’t tell Gale about mine and Peeta’s secret way of communicating. “Gale—” I begin, lowering my voice to a whisper. “—We were never going to _actually_ eat the berries. I would never leave Prim, not intentionally, anyway. And Gale, I love him. I love Peeta and I wish you’d give him a chance. He’s not as bad as you make him out to be, he’s not like all the other kids from town. I thought . . . I thought you of all people would understand. I mean, look at you and Madge.”

“Don’t bring Madge into this. And besides, she isn’t from town anymore.” Gale retorts.

“Neither is Peeta.”

“Look, I’m not sure what you have against Peeta, but Gale, you are my best friend. As my best friend, all I’m asking is that you give him a chance. Don’t be so quick to judge him before you get to know him. You can’t sit here and tell me that you weren’t wrong about Madge.”

“What about her?” He raises an eyebrow at the mention of Madge’s name. The next two snare lines are empty, it isn’t until we get to the third one that we get lucky. There are two squirrels and a rabbit. I spin around, turning my back to Gale and squeeze my eyes shut, allowing Gale to remove the furry rodent. Since returning home, I still have not been able to face another squirrel. Even though I know these squirrels are not the muttations the Capitol created.

“You can look now.” Gale says, his voice much softer. He was present the first time I faced a squirrel and had to carry me home after my mass hysteria. I trust him but am still hesitant to turn around. I count to ten in my head before turning around and facing the now empty snare.

“You thought Madge was a spoiled, entitled, privileged girl from town, and now look at you. Not only are you friends with her, but you’re in love with her.”

Stunned by my words, he turns to face me, his expression aghast. “What! No! What makes you think that? Why would you say that?” Gale twists the top of the game bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go check the others.”

“It’s okay Gale, it’s hard not to love her, I know I do.” I stop walking and wait for Gale to notice my absence at his side.

“No . . . I’m not . . . it’s not . . . It isn’t, I don’t—”

“Gale.” Only the trained ears from years of hunting give away that I am so far behind him.

“Come on Katniss.” He tells me in a stern voice.

Refusing to continue, mostly because I know Gale needs to admit his feelings, I begin. “Okay, let’s see . . . For starters, that day in the cafeteria. The way you barged in there and tried to coax her out of . . . the state she was in . . . and then you carried her home, all the way to your house. And . . . and Prim told me what happened last week when you came and got her and mom.” I pause for a moment, allowing him time to refute my words, but he only looks at the ground.

“Gale, it’s okay.” I tell him again, pleading with my eyes for him to know that my words are genuine.

“I don’t know Catnip, I never meant— I don’t— She’s just—”

“I know. She’s annoying and infuriating and opinionated, and sometimes she has no filter, but she’s also loyal and honest and brave and beautiful and amazing. Am I close? Because those are some of the things _I_ love about her.”

I see the hardened shell of Gale’s armor begin to melt. “It’s just . . . she’s not exactly speaking to anyone except for Ma and Posie these days. She barely looks at me anymore.” His voice seems to get smaller and smaller, saddened by Madge’s distance.

“Gale, she just lost everything. Both of her parents, her home, everything that she knew. Her life has been flipped upside down; everything that was familiar to her is gone, just like that.” I tell him, snapping my fingers. “She’s lost; give her some time and she’ll come around.” But then I remember something else Prim told me the day they ran over there.

“Have _you_ tried to talk to her since . . . since that day? Because maybe she’s embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say. Maybe she doesn’t know what you think about her, or if you still see her the same way.”

Gale gives me a bemused look, “Why would I see her any differently?” He grumbles as we pick up our pace.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but if it were me who broke down like that, and the boy I’ve been in love with since forever saw me that way, I might worry that he saw me as weak, as—”

Recognition consumes Gale, his eyes flickering with guilt and he stops walking. His mouth opens to say something, but no words come out.

“Go Gale. Go to her and I’ll check the rest of the snares.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I smile when I find myself staring at his back, watching him run to the girl he loves.

‘ _Never in a million years.’_ I think to myself. If this had been a year ago, Gale would have been much too proud to accept my help, much less admit his feelings for Madge Undersee.

_‘Peeta?’_ I call to him, getting an idea now that I have some free time.

_‘Katniss? Are you okay?’_ Peeta sounds worried, probably not expecting to hear from me for another few hours.

_‘What would you think about learning how to swim today?’_ I ask him, smiling at the thought of a shirtless Peeta again.

_‘Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.’_

_‘Now, I’ll meet you at the fence . . . And Peeta, bring towels.’_

**0 – 0 – 0 – 0**

**| Madge |**

“Stop calling me Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ve told you Madge, it’s Hazelle!” Mrs.— I mean Hazelle playfully scolds me for like, the millionth time this week. I smile and nod to her as we sit on the couch, folding the basket of laundry that belongs to the Cartwright’s.

I don’t know if Hazelle realizes how much her “mothering” means to me. I mean, she basically took me in as another one of her kids when I moved out here. She claimed that she needed help taking care of Posie, which I know is a bold face lie because they got along just fine before I came along. But I appreciate it, nonetheless. As much as I love and miss my mama, Hazelle has been more of a mother to me in the short time I’ve been here than my own mother was my entire life. But I feel too ashamed to say the words aloud, so I just smile and nod. Which seems to be my “go-to” expression more often than not.

I am not sure how long ago it was when I had my “breakdown.” It could be weeks or months; all the days seem to collide into one as of lately, but I feel more like myself after I woke from the morphling induced slumber that knocked me out for almost two days. When I woke up, tucked into Gale’s bed, I was more than a little shocked and confused. Since then, he has barely spoken a word to me, and I don’t know what to make of it. I know he works in the mines fourteen hours a day and by the time he gets home he probably has no energy for me. I guess I am afraid that he now sees me as this broken, shell of a girl I used to be, and whatever was kindling between us is no more.

Once my pile of folded laundry reaches its maximum height, I slide it over to make room for the next one. Hazelle reaches for it, stowing it into the basket so it doesn’t fall over, just as Gale bursts through the front door. Face flushed, hair a disheveled mess and panting for air, he is still the most beautiful sight to me.

“Whoa Gale, where’s the fire?” Hazelle jokes with him and he smiles that beautiful smile of his, shaking his head. He takes a seat on the recliner, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees and takes a few deep breaths until his breathing returns to normal before he speaks.

“Ma, can I— can I steal Madge for a minute?” He asks, still slightly out of breath. I am a little confused; I knew he was meeting up with Katniss today, like he does every Sunday and wasn’t prepared to see him for at least a few more hours. But here he is, not even an hour since he left, and wanting to talk to _me_ of all things.

“I don’t know Gale; you should probably ask Madge.” Hazelle quips, giving me a knowing smile. Does she know something I do not?

Gale looks at me almost shyly, his cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink. “Madge, do you . . . do you have a minute?”

“Okay, sure.” I tell him, first looking to Hazelle to make sure it’s okay. With no income, I try to help out as much as I can to earn my keep. And . . . with as much as Hazelle has done for me, I don’t want to do anything to disappoint her.

“We’re almost done here sweetie, go on.” She says and Gale takes my hand, leading me to the steps of the front porch.

“What’s up Gale?” I ask him, refusing to meet his eyes while I twiddle my thumbs.

“Madge . . . I . . . Madge, will you stop playing with your fingers and look at me?” He demands. Apprehensively, I look up and meet his eyes and am shocked by what I see. From the tone of his voice, I am expecting to see irritation, frustration, and maybe anger or rage. But when our eyes lock, his eyes soften and I see, or I think I see love. True, genuine, love just staring me in the face.

No, that can’t be right. I must be imagining things.

“I love you Madge and I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk. I was just trying to give you some time, some space, but then Catnip said . . . and . . . I don’t think you’re weak Madge, in fact, I think you are the opposite . . . you are the strongest person I’ve ever met, and . . . I— I love you.”

I am rendered speechless for a moment as his words hit me. Am I hallucinating, did he just say those words? And to me? “What did you say?” I ask, uncertain if I heard him correctly.

“I love you Madge. You heard me. And . . . I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk—” He begins, but his words trail off towards the end, deciding that he is better with actions than words and places his fingers under my chin, tilting my face up and kissing me lightly on the lips.

I feel the heat radiate up my face and wonder if Gale can feel it on his lips when I return his kiss. When the kiss is over, I am too afraid to meet his eyes, terrified this is just another hallucination of mine.

“Don’t hide from me Madge.” Gale says, lifting my chin to meet his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.” I tell him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry for falling apart. For crumbling.” He pulls me into his arms, holding me tight. And in this moment, for the first time since I said goodbye to my parents at the train station, I feel safe.

“I love you too.” I mumble into his chest, causing him to pull me even closer.


	2. Out of sight, out of mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss & Madge hang out in a tree; Peeta asks Mr. Everdeen a big question; Katniss finally gets some answers from her dad, only to have more questions; Haymitch does a good deed; Poppy chats with her dad; Madge runs into Peeta who invites her over, has some "real" girl talk with Katniss and thanks Prim; Katniss wakes up with a surprise from Peeta...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time on AWO, Katniss was miserable and we got to see the feisty side of Prim. Rye meddled in KP's relationship to help bring them together, Mrs. Mellark brought out the girl on fire, Gale realized some things, Katniss threw a hissy fit, Katniss meets Gale in the woods, who makes Gale realize some more things; Gale gets sentimental with Madge....

****

**Another Way Out**

**Chapter 2 : Out of sight, out of mind**

**Takes Place: 3 months after arriving home until tour day**

**| Katniss |**

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better Madge. You really had me worried, but are you sure you don’t want to stay with us? I mean, between Peeta’s house and mine, we have more than enough room.” Madge rolls her eyes at me as she runs her fingers through her golden curls to brush out the tangles. Then she scoops her hair up, twisting it into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. As I watch her do this, I can’t help but notice the once lustrous vibrancy of her skin and hair is absent; most likely a result from the raw chemicals in the homemade shampoo and soaps that come with a life in the Seam. Even without the luxuries from her merchant life she is still so naturally beautiful, and I get a pang of guilt at the jealousy I feel. Although, I know she’d give it all up in a heartbeat for a single chance to see her parents again.

I managed to convince her to meet me by the fence and we’ve made our way up my favorite tree. It’s the oak tree I taught her to climb in and probably one of the more difficult trees to climb, even for a skilled hunter like myself. It’s not exactly the best one to learn on, but if she can scale this tree almost as quickly as I can, then she can easily make it up any tree. Not that she would ever have any use for that kind of skill.

“Katniss, I wish you and Peeta would stop, I promise I’m fine. I’m happy where I am. And me too; I had myself pretty worried there for a while. It was like . . . like I was trapped inside my head—” She shakes her head in an attempt to rid the thought from her mind. “It’s actually not that bad. You know what they say; money can’t buy you happiness, and I have to say I agree with that. I have been happier living in the Seam with almost nothing to my name than I ever was before. I mean . . . well, you know, you lived there once. But really, I don’t want or need special treatment just because . . . well, you know.” She looks slightly ashamed by her admission as she stares off into the horizon, getting lost in her own thoughts. She knows I understand that she means because she _was_ the mayor’s daughter. 

“—And Mrs. Haw— I mean Hazelle is amazing.” She beams, glowing at the mention of Hazelle. I know firsthand what a doting mother Hazelle is from my years of friendship with Gale. She probably knows me as well as my own parents do, so when Gale told me that Hazelle has really taken to Madge, I knew that as much as Madge must miss her own mother, having a maternal figure like Hazelle constantly doting on her must be a nice change.

My scatter brain wanders to a few days ago when Prim was exploring our basement and came across a few boxes of clothes that she claimed were Madge’s. When I asked her how she knew they were Madge's and not, well, I don't know _who_ they would belong to since I'm the first occupant of my house; but my sassy little sister rolled her eyes at me and pointed to the top of the box. Written in giant black boldface letters were the words, "RETURN TO MADGE UNDERSEE." How they got there in the first place, we haven’t quite figured that one out yet, but my guess is that Mr. Undersee placed it there before he and Madge’s mom left for the Capitol.

Which means he most likely knew they would never make it to the Capitol, much less come back home. He had to have known that when the news of their deaths were announced, Madge would soon be evicted from the mansion to make room for the new mayor and her family. There just isn't another explanation for it.

Excited to be able to give Madge something familiar, Prim and I brought the box with us on one of our trips to see our friend. She refused the clothes at first, but Prim can be rather persuasive when she wants to be and Madge finally, however reluctant, accepted the box of clothes. I’m not sure why it didn’t strike me as suspicious at how quickly Madge was to accept the box because not long after this exchange, I found out that she cut most of the clothes up, transforming them into a few dresses for Posie. The rest she gave to Rose, asking her to disperse them to any girls she knew of that could use them. It’s actions such as these that give me hope, that inspires me to believe the world is not awful. Madge, a girl who has lost almost everything and yet, somehow, she remembers there are others still, more unfortunate than her. 

The change in pace, in addition to the absence of luxuries in her life seem to have made no difference to Madge and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride at having known her both before and after this tragedy. At first, most of the folk’s in the Seam were hesitant to accept her as “one of them”, but after some rather ferocious glares from Hazelle and a few verbal lashings from Gale, no one dares a single derogatory remark about the previously “entitled daughter of the mayor.” Because she is no longer that, she is now just an orphan. I cannot imagine losing one of my parents, but both of them! Just the thought of losing even _one_ of my parents sends a shiver up my spine. Even now, I have no idea how Madge is coping as well as she is.

“Katniss, aren’t you nervous about the Victory Tour? I mean, I can’t even _imagine_ having to face all those families.” Madge asks me once we reach our usual branch and get ourselves situated. I cross my fingers and hope there aren’t listening devices in this tree. If overheard, Madge’s statement would most certainly be considered treasonous. 

Madge was the one to inform me as to the location of all the surveillance in our district prior to my games, keeping me out of the Capitol’s eye on my trips into the woods. But I guess it’s totally possible they added more after Peeta and I made a mockery of their games.

Madge reaches for the small stick she brought with her and begins hacking at a spot on the trunk of the tree. My brows knit together as I watch her, trying to figure out what she is doing; her question all but forgotten.

"Madge, what are you—” She places a finger over her lips to silence me and then removes a piece of bark from the tree, revealing a secret compartment. I watch in utter stupefaction as she buries her arm into the hollowed-out space that nearly reaches up to her elbows. To my surprise, when her hand returns, it is clutching firmly onto a book.

“What in the—” I gasp, wondering how it got there in the first place, or if it had been here all along.

She closes her eyes; and it’s a moment before she opens them again. “Katniss, there are some things— you know what, I don’t care what they said, you have a right to know.” Her voice rises, clearly irritated at whoever “they” are.

"What— who—" She doesn’t let me get my words out, she just keeps talking.

“I put this book here when you were in the Capitol. Or well, the games. It was the only place I could think of where it would be safe.” She opens the book and plucks a pen from her ponytail, clicking it until a light emerges from the tip. The page appears blank at first, until she shines the light over the page; the entirety of the paper filled with someone’s handwriting.

“Haymitch told me where to find this in my dad’s office before the reaping. It’s a special book that _NO ONE_ can know about.” She states, the tone in her voice conveying the urgency of _‘no one.’_

“Wait a minute, back up. Haymitch told you? You and Haymitch spoke before the reaping?” I had no clue that Haymitch and Madge had any connection to each other until the day Haymitch came to retrieve me and Peeta; the day Madge found out about her parents. So, this really shouldn’t come as a surprise to me but for some reason it does.

Madge nods hesitantly and then her lips part ever so slightly before she speaks, “He and my dad were friends for a long time, just in secret. They didn’t want anyone to know, it wasn’t safe. The only reason I know everything I do is because I used to crawl in the walls at home and eavesdrop on his conversations. When I heard about their plans for the games, I confronted him. And well, there was a secret meeting before the reaping that I demanded he bring me to.”

“A secret meeting? Wait— huh— hold on, who was there?” Stumbling over my words, I am eager to know more; yet something tells me I am keenly aware of who one specific member was. Is.

“It was just our dads and Haymitch.” Closing my eyes, I supply her with a solemn nod, urging her to continue.

“What does it do?” I inquire, averting our focus back to the book.

“Well, you see; this book, it has a twin. If I write a message in it, the words appear in the other book almost instantly. It’s how Haymitch and I communicated during yours and Peeta’s games. He would give me pointers on what to say in my interviews and in return, I would spy on Tangie and Olive and report it back to him—"

"Tangie and Olive?" I interject, tilting my head quizzically; curious as to if those are actual people’s names. It sounds more like food than people.

Madge chuckles and shakes her head. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you don't know who they are. Tangie and Olive were the Capitol reporters sent to Twelve once you and Peeta reached the final eight."

I know that Prim’s name being called was part of some master plan to get me to volunteer, but what were the chances of Peeta’s name being chosen? Suddenly, a memory resurfaces; no, actually, I think it was a dream. Tiny Rue in her sweet fairy wing costume appeared before me, insisting that I question the chances of Prim’s name being called; Peeta’s name, too. ‘ _Ask the questions you need to get your answers_ ’, is what I think she said. But what does that mean? What is the right question?

“Was Peeta’s name being called a part of their plan too?” I ask, knowing that Madge will be honest with me.

“I . . . I don’t think so, but I do remember suggesting that they should think about giving Miss Trinket a random boy's name to call; just in case, you know. Because _I_ knew you’d never come home without Peeta; at least not without a fight.” I am taken aback, completely flabbergasted by this revelation. Not that Madge seemed to know me better than I knew myself, but that Effie has been a part of this from the beginning.

“Effie? Y- you; did you say _Effie_? As in Effie Trinket? Effie Trinket; District Twelve’s escort? She— _she_ was a part of it? Are you telling me that she picked up a slip of paper from the reaping ball and just . . . she _deliberately_ called Prim’s name? The ball wasn’t just . . . filled with thousands of slips of Prim’s name?”

Her hand snaps up to cover her mouth, realizing she wasn’t supposed to reveal this bit of information. “Katniss, I’m— she— it wasn’t— crap, I’m sorry.”

My mind travels back to the night before our first post games interview when Effie cornered me on the roof. She apologized for calling Prim’s name, for her part in calling Peeta’s name and I assured her it wasn’t her fault. In retrospect, it all makes sense; all of those hesitant glances and the guilt riddled expressions. However, after learning this news I am beginning to see Effie Trinket in a whole new light. I always thought she was a stuck-up snob. From the moment I first saw her, I placed her in a category as _'one of them.'_ “Madge, who is in charge? Who orchestrated for all this to happen?” _Who do I have to thank for sending me into the arena?_ I leave unspoken.

“I’ve never met her, and I don’t know this for certain, but I think . . . I think it’s someone from District Thirteen.”

“District what? No, there is no District Thirteen; it was . . . they destroyed it after the Dark Days; they blew it up, it's gone. There weren’t any survivors.” The words stumble out of my mouth as I try to wrap my head around what Madge has just revealed. It was only a few days ago that Peeta and I had the television on for background noise when I saw a reporter in one of those hazmat suits. The reporter was standing on the remains of the Justice Building of Thirteen and you could even see the scientists in the background collecting samples. She said they confirmed that the air is still too hazardous for human consumption. So, it can’t—

“That’s just the cover story the Capitol feeds us. They actually moved underground and are thriving. I mean, like, really, really thriving. Supposedly, they have this amazing technology and medical advancements that would blow your mind. From what I overheard in a few of my dad’s conversations, they have stuff in Thirteen that makes the Capitol look like child’s play.” Madge explains to me.

“I don’t understand Madge, if they have all this . . . technology and resources, why haven’t they helped us? Why haven’t they done anything to put a stop to . . . Madge, I—”

“I asked the same questions Katniss, but all my dad said was they were waiting for a spark. They are just one district, and a pretty small one from what I gather, so they couldn’t risk taking the Capitol on alone, or at least not without the support of the majority of the nation. Which is where—”

“—I come in.” I finish for Madge and she nods, confirming my suspicions. “But why me? Why did they pick me?”

“I don’t know Katniss, but before my dad left for— before he left, he told me not to trust her, Thirteen’s leader. That her intentions are not as pure as they seem.” Narrowing my eyes, I feel a wrinkle in my forehead. My mind is spinning at this new information. What does all of this mean?

“Katniss, I am SO sorry that I didn’t tell you, I wanted too so badly, but I couldn’t. My dad— he said it was too dangerous and I promised, and—” Madge wails, her eyes pooling with tears. Knowing the importance of keeping her word, whether it is to me, to Peeta, or her parents, I quickly reach out and wrap my arms around my friend, assuring her that I am not mad at her. That she is not at fault.

“I love you Madge.” I mumble into her shoulder. I am beginning to think there are a lot of things being kept from me and perhaps it is finally time to have that talk with my dad.

* * *

**| Peeta |**

I have been looking forward to and dreading this conversation for most of my life. After Katniss blatantly refused to abide by her parent’s wishes, continuing to sneak into my house night after night, Mr. Everdeen finally asked if we could have a talk. A shudder ran through me at the thought of it being “ _THE talk”_.

One night after dinner, Mr. Everdeen pulled me to the side, casually asking me if I could carve out some time to talk to him and then never brought it up again. Instead of having this conversation sprung on me, possibly cornering me in my own living room, I took the initiative and invited him for a walk in the woods; in comfortable territory for both of us. _Plus, it will give me something else to look at other than his eyes._ I think to myself, smiling because I’m pretty sure it’s actually the _real_ reason.

“How’s it going Peeta?” Mr. Everdeen greets me once I reach the fence. I am becoming more adept with my new appendage and a sense of pride flows through me knowing it only took half the time to make it out here than the last time I attempted this hike.

“It’s good Mr. Everdeen.” I tell him after stumbling over the roots in the ground. Quickly steadying myself, I regain my balance in no time. I still have the cane Dr. Corrinne provided me with but haven't had to use it since the first week I was home. Speaking of Dr. Corrinne; there is something uncanny about that woman I cannot quite place my finger on. She is just too nice to be from the Capitol. A few weeks after I got home, she called to check in with me, wanting to make sure my leg wasn’t giving me any problems. If that through me for a loop, I was completely stupefied when she volunteered to make a special trip to Twelve if I needed her to.

“It’s Dylan, Peeta. Please stop calling me Mr. Everdeen, it makes me feel so old.” He says, giving me his award-winning smile. For the first time, I notice he and Katniss share the same smile. I suppose it _would_ be hard to miss, since Katniss almost never smiles. I inwardly grin thinking that I am probably the only one in the district to find Katniss’ scowl charming.

“Sorry, habit I guess.” I apologize, unable to conceal my blush.

“So, what’s up Peeta, why did you want to meet out here?” He asks me.

Feeling more nervous the further along the trail we walk, I shove my hands into my pockets and look anywhere else but at him. _I thought I might have more control over the conversation if I initiated our talk._ I silently speculate. “Well, I just thought . . . I mean, it’s been a while since our last chat, and you mentioned you wanted to talk so . . . and I — I wanted to talk to you about Katniss.” Even though I'm tripping over my words, I find myself feeling optimistic for getting straight to the point. Yes, it’s better to go ahead and get this over with. If I delay it any longer, I'm just going to end up making myself crazy.

“Ah, okay, I see. Are you referring to all of these “late-night visits”?” He asks me, using finger air quotes. I turn to face him, expecting to see anger or even disappointment on his face. However, neither of those expressions are present. Instead, he looks . . . amused.

“I swear on my life Mr. Ev— I mean Dylan, we’re not doing anything; I mean, nothing has happened; I mean, not like that, I mean; it’s not what you’re probably thinking. It just— it feels better— I mean, no, not like th— that’s not what I meant. That didn't come out right, I’m sorry—” I internally kick myself for stammering like an idiot and take a deep breath before making another attempt at it. We come to a stop on our path and Mr. Everdeen offers me an animated expression. I take a deep breath and slowly release it, hoping to calm my nerves before I continue. 

“Peeta, calm down, it’s okay. I know—”

“Please Mr. Ev— Dylan, I need to say this.” He nods, remaining silent and allowing me to continue. “What I _mean_ to say is that when either of us wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, being able to physically see each other, well, it . . . at least for me, it gives me a sense of security. When I can lay my actual eyes on Katniss’ actual self, I just feel . . . I don’t know, safe? Knowing that she is alive and okay, it well, it comforts me. When she’s there with me when we fall asleep next to each other, she . . . well, she keeps the nightmares at bay; for the most part, at least.”

I must sound like a blithering idiot judging by the foolish grin painted on his face. And his deafening silence doesn’t do anything to keep me from internally squirming.

“Mr.— Dylan, I want— no; I need you to know that I love your daughter. I love Katniss. I love her with all of my everything and I have for such a long time. I would never do anything she didn’t want, and I need you to know that I would _never_ disrespect her in any way—” I begin, and it’s driving me crazy that he hasn’t said anything yet. Although, I am probably making an even bigger fool of myself by continuing my rant. But the nervous idiot I am, I continue. "You have—"

With a genuine smile he rests a hand on my shoulder. “Peeta, calm down. If I thought for a second that you were hurting my daughter in any way, you would not have that other leg.” He jests, casting a brief glance down to my remaining limb. “But I think we can both agree that Katniss doesn’t do _anything_ she doesn’t want to do, so, I’m not worried.”

“What?"

“I’m not worried Peeta. You guys went through a major trauma together; facing something as traumatic as surviving the games with another person creates a bond, whether you love them romantically or not. And I _know_ you, Peeta. You and Katniss have been friends for years and you’ve been coming around long enough for me to know the kind of person you are . . . and I trust you Peeta.”

“Um, okay.” Wow, I was not expecting that. All my anxiety evaporates with his words, knowing he trusts me. I exhale a sigh of relief and we begin strolling through the forest again. 

“I can see you are confused, and honestly, I did not feel this way at first. Trust me Peeta, there was a time when I wanted to strangle you.” He speaks about squeezing the life from me so casually.

“Well, I appreciate you allowing me to keep my life, but what changed?”

“You have my wonderful wife to thank for that. Lilly, she— she talked to me, opened my eyes, helped me see the bigger picture.”

“That’s a relief, because there was actually something I wanted to ask you, I mean . . . run by you if you don’t mind.”

“Sure kid, shoot.” My “silver tongue” as Katniss refers to my way with words has done nothing but fail me up to this point. Anxious, nervous and rambling like an idiot, I feel like I've done nothing but embarrass myself, yet I keep going. This is too important to stop now.

“Well, you see, well— um, well first, I need you to know that I am not thinking about this anytime in the near future, but just . . . one day, hopefully, if she’ll have me. One day I want to marry your daughter. She is everything to me and . . . and even now, it’s excruciating to be apart from her. I mean, it is physically painful; it literally _hurts . . ._ like, deep in my bones, it hurts. Mr. Everdeen—"

Mr. Everdeen narrows his eyes, scowling at me, and for the second time I see Katniss looking back at me. “Peeta—"

"I'm sorry, I know you said not to call you that, but I can't ask you what I want to ask you and respectfully call you by your first name." Recognition fills his eyes for a moment, as if he knows what’s coming next. In all likelihood, he probably does.

"Your daughter— Katniss . . . if you asked me to describe her, I would tell you that she has a permanent scowl painted on her face, she’s a slob, she can’t cook to save her life and she is easily annoyed. And it’s true, for the most part. That scowl of hers remains etched on her face at all times, but when I can get her to crack a smile, it is the most beautiful sight I may have ever seen; it has the ability to melt my heart. And I could care less about her cooking skills, or how messy she is. I wouldn’t change one single thing about her, I will take her exactly as she is for a single chance to spend my life making her happy. Katniss— she also has the ability to see the drawbacks of any situation. Somehow, she can find all the things that could _possibly_ go wrong in any given scenario. But that’s where we complement each other because I am the complete opposite. We balance each other out.” I take a deep breath, pausing for a moment.

“Mr. Everdeen, I was hoping, or actually wondering, if when the time comes . . . you know, like, years and years from now, if it would be possible to have your blessing?” I give him a moment to process my request before I continue. I have practiced this speech for years, but it always seemed so far out of reach. It wasn’t until we were on our way to the Capitol that Katniss finally admitted her feelings for me. By then, we weren’t even sure if we’d make it out alive, much less together.

"One of my favorite qualities about Katniss is how passionately and fiercely she loves and her sheer determination to keep those same people safe. She is also the bravest person I’ve ever met; even when she is terrified out of her mind, she doesn't show an ounce of fear; she pushes ahead. If you ask me, she pushes all of us ahead. She keeps me going. She is spontaneous and erratic, but I don't think those are bad qualities to have. Katniss: she feels with her whole self and I don't know, I find something magical about her. She has the ability to inspire hope and courage; and her voice, she doesn't sing often but when she does it's like she hypnotizes me and, and—” I am grinning like a lovesick idiot as I list off the many attributes I love about Katniss Alexandria Everdeen, that I don't even realize I’ve stopped speaking and am staring off into the horizon with an image of Katniss in my head.

Mr. Everdeen's voice startles me, jolting me back into the now. “Peeta, well, first of all; yes, of course you have my blessing. I already consider you a part of our family and I would be honored to call you my son. But Peeta, I think we got our signals crossed when I said I wanted to talk to you, although I appreciate you taking the initiative. You see Peeta, the reason I said I wanted to speak with you is because, well, I never thanked you.”

Halting in my tracks, I scratch my head feeling most confused. “Thank me? What for?” I run through my memories of the last few weeks, trying to figure out what he means to thank me for. But for the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing I could have possibly done that would warrant a thanks.

“During the games when you and Katniss were in the cave, you told her a story. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that it actually happened. When I was in that coma, Lilly, she— well, to put it mildly, she checked out. And if it weren’t for you giving Katniss the bread, either I would have never woken up, or when I finally did wake up, I may not have had a family to be with. And I owe it all to you. What you did Peeta, what you did was brave, courageous; even heroic. And you did it knowing full well the consequences, that your mother— I cannot even _begin_ to repay that debt.” He shakes his head, his lips forming into a firm line after mentioning my mother and I see a slight shiver run through him at the knowledge of what she did.

“I didn’t do it because I wanted payment, or even acknowledgement of a job well done. I did it because Katniss needed it, Prim needed it; I did it because I could, because I had the ability to help her and . . . and because it was the right thing to do. Any decent human being would have done the same thing.”

“No Peeta, they wouldn’t. You saved my family’s life.” He gives me a somber look, staring at me so seriously.

“Well, I would do it again and again; I would do anything for Katniss sir, because I love her that much. I would give her my right arm to keep her safe. Hell, I would gladly give her my other leg if it came down to it. I promise this to you that if, whenever the time comes and if she agrees to have me, I promise you I will always put her first. I will take care of her and work my best and hardest to be the kind of man she deserves.”

“I don't doubt that for a second Peeta. And— no giving away any appendages." He quips, patting me on the back and then his mouth transforms into a frown. "We should probably start heading back, it’ll be dark soon.” He suggests, stroking his beard and looking up into the sky. I nod and we make a U-turn at the next tree, heading back into town. “And Peeta, she loves you too, that much, and . . . I think you’re good for her too. I know why you were in a fight those first couple of weeks you were home and I appreciate you trying to see things from my perspective. I hate myself for . . . well, you know.” He finishes, his words trailing off. I wonder if he is aware of the various listening devices throughout the district. Or better yet, the one in my leg?

As we pass the local blacksmith, I get an idea.

* * *

**| Katniss |**

“What is this place?” A few days ago, I approached my dad, informing him that I was ready to talk. After my talk with Madge, I came to the conclusion that I wanted answers. No, I needed them. Finally, Dad promised that he would find the time for us to talk, and soon. That was three days ago. 

Since Dad’s injury from the explosion in the mines, he is considered “handicapped” and in turn, was incapable of working the standard six days a week in the mines like all the other miners. Instead, he only worked three days a week. Thankfully, Mom had her healing business to make up for the lack of income on his part, although I suppose now that I am a victor that doesn’t matter. Since my return, Dad has given up his position in the mines, which I am thankful for. I never liked the thought of him being trapped hundreds and hundreds of feet underground, even before the explosion. _Now, if only I could convince Gale not to go._ I shake my head, knowing he would never accept my “blood money”.

However, with Mom being the only healer people in the Seam can afford, she said she just can’t in good conscience give that up. If you ask me, I think she loves her work, kind of how I love being in the woods. No amount of money could keep me from doing what I love. _Except maybe the squirrels._ I think silently, cringing at the thought of the furry rodents that seem to be prevalent in each of my nightmares.

Peeta left at dark o’clock in the morning to help his dad in the bakery, the same as he does every morning, except for Sundays. He always makes sure I am awake before he leaves so that I can walk Prim to school. We have both been terrified to let Prim go anywhere alone; afraid Snow will take his anger out on the people we love. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I would never be able to live with myself if my actions in the arena were the cause of something— anything happening to my little sister. And school is no exception. 

After walking Prim to school this morning, I spent about two hours in the woods before making my rounds in the Hob. I made my usual trades, making sure to stop by Ripper’s to fetch a bottle of spirit’s for Haymitch. He doesn’t know it, but I have been stockpiling for him in case of another shortage. My last stop is always Greasy Sae’s, grabbing a bowl of her famous “Mystery Soup of the Day”. The _mystery_ is most likely wild dog, but people don’t tend to want to eat it knowing that, so she leaves it a mystery. Darius was there today, one of the only peacekeeper’s in Twelve that doesn’t give me the creeps. He is always friendly with me with his flirtatious banter. It’s hard not to like someone so cheerful, with his stark red hair and such a cheerful smile.

After gobbling down my soup and returning Sae’s bowl back to her, I made my way home. When I reached Victor’s Village, I was surprised to see Dad waiting for me by the gate of the front entrance. “You wanna take a walk kiddo?” He asked me, donned in his tradition hunting clothes.

“Sure.” I told him apprehensively. I was eager to get answers yet, terrified all the same for those precise answers. I walked alongside Dad as he led us into the woods. Once we slipped under the fence, we took our usual path that led us deeper into the forest. However, when we got to the fork in the path, instead of turning left we made a sharp right.

I didn’t ask questions; I just followed behind Dad. We walked in silence for close to fifteen minutes until we reached a clearing in the woods. A single tree stood in the center of the clearing, and I thought for a moment that Dad had lost his marbles when he began playing with the branches of this suspicious tree. I stood there, furrowing my brows in confusion as I witnessed the tree open up and a set of stairs appeared in its place.

Raising a brow, I ask Dad again, “What is this place?”

Dad places a finger over his lips and motions for me to follow him. Once we reach the bottom of the steps, he touches something against the wall and the entrance closes. Trapping us underground.

Immediately sensing my panic, Dad reaches for my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay Katniss, we’re completely safe down here. I promise.” He affirms and for some reason, I trust him. I probably shouldn’t after all the secrets he’s kept, but at the end of the day he _is_ my dad.

It’s pitch-black down here, which only exacerbates my anxiety. My heart accelerates even more when I wave my hand in front of my face and cannot see a thing; reminding me of when the gamemaker’s blinded me and Peeta in the arena. As if on cue, a dim light appears right next to Dad, who I can now see holding a lantern in his left hand, almost level with his head. 

With the lantern illuminating the way, I ascertain that we are in a narrow, tunnel like structure. The ceiling can’t be more than eight feet high and if I were to spread my arms out, I’m certain my fingertips would barely graze the walls. We don’t walk much further when we reach a set of four giant rocks that we use as chairs. Dad places the lantern on one of the rocks and we each take a seat. I cross my legs over each other, resting my elbows in my lap and balance my chin on top of my hands.

“What is this place? Where did it come from? And— and how long has it been here?” I demand this time, irritated that it is the third time I have asked the question.

“This is a secret underground tunnel that was built a long time ago by rebels disguised as Capitol citizens. From what I’ve been told, it somehow connects all the districts together. But Katniss, this is the only place we can talk that is completely void of listening devices. The Capitol is not aware of its existence, making it the only place we can speak freely. However, staying down here too long would rouse their suspicions.”

I nod, understanding that we must get to the point. And . . . hopefully we will be able to come out here again.

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” I snap at Dad. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for— it’s just . . . that’s what Haymitch calls me.” I tell him, as if this should explain it all.

Dad grins and then runs his hands through his wavy hair, which causes the corners of my mouth to turn up. I never noticed it before, but both Peeta and my dad have the same nervous tell when they are anxious about something. “What do you want to know Lexie?”

The nickname causes the corners of my lips to turn up and I think it’s the first genuine smile I’ve given my dad since coming home from the games. Since finding out about what he did. “Everything. I want to know everything, from the beginning.” I assert, wiping the smile from my face to convey the seriousness I feel.

Dad chuckles and shakes his head at me. “Of course, you do, and you will. But I don’t think we have time to cover _everything_ right now.”

“Okay. Then, why did you do it? Why did you make them call Prim’s name?” I begin with the question that has been eating away at me since the moment I overheard my dad and Haymitch talking on the train. “You were that certain that I would take her place? You bargained Prim’s life on a _chance_ —”

“Katniss . . . I— I’m going to make you a promise right now, okay?” I nod, motioning for him to continue. “I can’t tell you everything, it just isn’t safe, but I _will_ tell you as much as I can.” I nod again, meeting his eyes with my full attention. “First of all, yes. I was _that_ certain that you would not let Primrose go into an arena. Because I _know_ you Katniss Alexandria Everdeen, and there is not a selfish bone in your body when it comes to your sister. You would rather cut off your right arm rather than see her suffer.”

Squirming in place, I try my best not to scowl because he’s right. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love Prim. “But Katniss, putting all that aside, there is someone else calling the shots and if I didn’t go along with their plans, they would have done it anyway. But Katniss, this is bigger than you, bigger than me, Prim, Peeta; it’s bigger than all of us. It’s about bringing Snow down, about ending the games, about freedom. It’s about being allowed to slip under the fence without fear of repercussions. Whether you do it because you want to, or to feed your family. It’s about choices, about freedom. I said no at first, because you are my baby girl, and I would kill anyone who tried to harm you. But once they explained the bigger picture, I realized they were right. And honey, maybe this is wrong, but when they said they chose _you_ , I was _proud._ Proud that **_my_** daughter has the ability to make this kind of change. Proud that **_you_** have the power to sway a nation.”

“But—” I begin, but Dad places his hand on top of mine, urging me to let him continue.

“Katniss, from the moment you screamed “I volunteer” for Primrose, I hated myself. I still do. But as I watched you in the arena— hell, I noticed it before the arena. Without even realizing it you defied the Capitol at every twist and turn. You volunteered for your sister, not for the fame or the glory, like the career’s do, but because you would rather die than see your sister suffer. And it didn’t stop there; when Peeta joined you on the stage and you guys held hands, you didn’t hide your friendship, your relationship. You went into the games together, refusing to play by their rules, and you guys made no effort to hide it either.”

Dad takes a breath before continuing, “And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, they were right. You were above and beyond anything they imagined, you and Peeta exceeded their wildest expectations. But . . . it wasn’t until the moment you found Thresh; you tried to take care of him until you realized there was nothing you could do. Instead of abandoning him, you held him in your arms . . . you played along with his delirium by pretending to be his mother. You held him in your arms and sang to him. And then— I cannot even begin to describe the insurmountable waves of pride I felt when you performed the death rights for him . . . sending him off with your token to watch over his body. That was the moment, for me at least, that I knew that no one else could do this but you.”

Dad pauses, wiping a tear that is gliding down his cheek. “Katniss, with all that being said, I am so sorry. I am so, so, so sorry for my part in putting you through that torment. That hell. I know that my actions are unforgivable, but I hope that one day . . . that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive your ole’ man.” I hop off my rock and join Dad on his, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I was so angry, Dad. I just . . . I was angry, and I think I hated you there for a little while. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad, but I will always love you. And I do, I love you. But Dad, I’m still confused. What was I “chosen” for, and what do they expect me to do?” I came down here with the intent of acquiring some answers only to have more questions.

“I was promised that your part would end when you won the games. However, no one expected you to be as . . . moving . . . as you were. You were supposed to volunteer for Primrose, showing the nation that love is stronger than fear. That in this wicked world we live in, there are those of us who have not lost our humanity. Volunteering for your baby sister because you love her so much, because you knew you stood a fighting chance; where if Primrose had gone in there, she wouldn’t have lasted . . . she just wouldn’t have lasted.” Dad struggles to get his last words out, as if the simple thought of Prim going into the arena causes him pain.

“But then Peeta’s name was called. The second you guys left, I demanded we figure out a way to bring you both home. I refused to play along unless he was included, because even then, I knew how you felt about him. I knew you would never come home without him. If you did . . . if somehow you made it back to Twelve without him, you wouldn’t be Katniss anymore. You wouldn’t be my baby girl anymore, and you definitely wouldn’t be what they needed you to be.”

I am thankful for the darkness of the cave, hiding the deep blush I feel creeping up my cheeks. “I love him, Dad.” I admit for the first time out loud to someone other than Peeta, without the presence of cameras.

“I know you do Lexie. Peeta is a good boy.”

“So, Peeta’s name being called wasn’t part of some sort of master plan? I mean, it seems . . . it’s just crazy how it worked out, I guess.” I think about Haymitch’s strategy to sell “The Love-Struck Fool’s” and how the Capitol fell in love with our love story, which was the only reason we both made it out of there. _No, Katniss, you made it out of there because you outsmarted them._ I remind myself, remembering how they wanted Peeta and I to kill each other.

_‘Katniss! Katniss? Where are you? Katniss!’_ Peeta’s tremulant voice echoes in my head. Crap, I forgot to leave him a note letting him know where I would be. In my defense, I didn’t know I would be having this talk with Dad today.

“It’s okay Peeta, I’m with Dad.”

Dad stops talking, narrowing his eyes. Only then do I realize that I answered Peeta out loud.

_‘Katniss!’_

_‘I’m okay Peeta, I went for a walk with Dad. We’re talking.’_ I assure Peeta while keeping my eyes focused on Dad; thankful that Peeta and I have been practicing communicating with each other while carrying on a conversation.

“Katniss, are you okay?” Dad questions me, looking more curious than anything else.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not sure what happened.” Dad raises his wrist to check the time and his forehead wrinkles.

_‘Crap Katniss, you scared me to death! I thought— never mind what I thought. Let me know when you guys are headed home.’_

“We should probably start heading home, it will be dark soon. It’s not safe to be out here so late, and we’ve been down here longer than we should.” Dad is right; as the days grow shorter and cooler, we also seem to lose daylight earlier and earlier each night.

I nod, standing up and stretching my legs. “What time is it anyway?” It feels like we’ve only been down here for twenty minutes; it can’t be any longer than an hour though.

“Four o’clock.”

“Seriously?” Three hours. We left home shortly after lunch time, so I guess that’s about right. It took us almost an hour to get out here and will take equally as long to get back.

Dad leads us back the way we came, navigating us through the tunnel and to the set of stairs that brought us down here. I pay close attention this time, seeing a numerical keypad on the wall that Dad punches three numbers into, commanding the ceiling to open up. He pokes his head out first, making sure the coast is clear before motioning for me to follow. Sure enough, when we’re back in the cover of the woods, the sun is kissing the horizon. We probably have just enough time to make it home before dark.

“Katniss, you can NOT repeat a word of this to anyone. I mean anyone. It just isn’t safe.” Dad tells me as we make our way back.

“Okay Dad, I know.”

“I’m serious Katniss, not a word. We’ll find a way to bring you and Peeta out here soon.”

“Not a word, I promise Dad.” I assure him. And it’s not a lie. I will not say a word _out loud_ to anyone.

“Mom is going to be so mad at me; it was my night to cook dinner. I didn’t realize we would be gone this long.” I try to sound contrite, but the truth is I hate the nights when the cooking lands on me.

“I told your mother we were coming out here. And after the fiasco last week, I think you’ve been banned from cooking ever again; at least that’s what Peeta told me.” Dad chuckles.

“Since when do you talk to Peeta?” I ask defensively.

“Oh Lexie. Lexie, Lexie, Lexie.” Dad shakes his head, grinning mischievously. For some reason this reminds me of Cinna.

“Dad, how did Cinna know to call me Lexie?”

* * *

**| Haymitch |**

“Haymitch, I can’t take your money.” Hazelle tells me for probably the millionth time this month. I promised Ric I’d look out for Madge and since the Hawthorne’s seem to have taken Madge under their wing, try as I might to help them out, Hazelle refuses me every time.

“Hazelle, please.” My eyes plead with her. “I promised Ric—”

“Haymitch, she is no bother. She helps me more than anything; if anyone should be compensating someone, it should be me.

I raise an eyebrow, casting her a questioning glance. It’s true that Madge pulls her weight around the Hawthorne home. I know for a fact that she helps out with taking care of the youngest Hawthorne, in addition to assisting Hazelle with her laundry service. I’ve stopped by plenty of times to see Madge sitting with Hazelle, a pile of laundry in-between them as they fold away.

“There’s gotta be something—” I continue, ready to get down on my knees and beg if I must.

“Actually Haymitch, perhaps there _is_ something you can help me out with.” I meet her eyes, giving her my full attention.

“Anything. Just name it and I’ll find a way to make it happen.” I pledge, hoping that it is something within my grasp.

“Well, Haymitch, ever since the . . . uh . . . you know, ‘the incident’—” She winces, referring to when Madge broke down and couldn’t stop crying, “—well, ever since then, she’s seemed better, you know going through the motions; smiling, laughing and talking at all the appropriate times, but I can’t help but feel as if it’s all for show. That there is something missing from her life—”

_Yeah, her parents._ I silently retort.

“I overheard Madge talking to Posie one night and her entire being just radiated this brilliant light when she shared a story about playing the piano. Now, I know there is no way we could afford, much less fit one of those giant things in our home, but perhaps there may be a smaller one, or . . . oh, I don’t know Haymitch, it just seemed to make her so happy, just the memory of playing.” Hazelle beams as she recalls the memory, and suddenly, I get an idea.

“I’ll be right back Hazelle!” I exclaim, rushing out the door and sprinting across town.

Not exactly in the best shape of my life, I am huffing and puffing, sweaty and out of breath by the time I reach the mayor’s house. I give myself a minute, taking a few deep breaths as I fight for the oxygen to fill my lungs. Once my breathing has stabilized and I am no longer wheezing like an eighty-year-old man, I use the back of my sleeve to wipe the sweat from my brow and then knock on the door.

“Why hello Haymitch, what a surprise!” Rose chimes, shocked to see me.

“Is Poppy, I mean Mayor- what the hell is her last name again?” As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth, Poppy appears with her husband by her side. Kadinski; Raven Kadinski, a damn sponsor. I keep forgetting he’s actually a rebel. I wipe the disgust off my face remembering how he _did_ try to help my kids out in the arena. _And he helped Effie too._ That little voice in the back of my head reminds me.

“I uh . . . I was wondering what you had planned for that thing?” I ask, pointing to the grand piano sitting idly in the center of the great room.

“It’s immaculate, isn’t it?” Poppy beams, looking over to the piano. “But no one knows how to play, so it just sits here. Do you play Haymitch? Kizzy wants to learn, but it’s hard to learn if there is no teacher.” At the sound of her name, “Kizzie” comes out of her hiding place behind the security of her father’s legs. She’s a tiny little thing, probably about six or seven years old. Now I see why Plutarch can’t stop talking about her, the little girl is a beauty with her striking blue eyes and golden blonde ringlets.

“Hell no, I mean shit, oh crap, dammit; sorry.” I sputter, reaching up to cover my mouth in front of the kid. “Wouldn’t know what to do with it if my life depended on it, but . . . maybe we can help each other out.” I forgo all pleasantries and decide to just spit it out.

“How so?” Raven asks, his curiosity piqued.

“The Undersee girl; Madge, you know, Ric’s daughter—”

“Yes, how unfortunate about her parents, the poor dear—” Poppy croons apologetically, glancing up and then meeting my eyes, reminding me of the surveillance filled in her home.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the girl’s a prodigy; she’s a musical genius. I only heard her play once or twice, but uh . . . I bet she’d be interested and probably willing to teach your girl.”

Poppy clasps her hands and looks up to her husband, beaming at him. “Oh! That would be magnificent, absolutely splendid!” She trills, lowering herself to her daughters’ level. “Would you like to learn how to play the piano Kizzie?”

The little girl’s face lights up and she starts bouncing. “Really mama? Yes, please! I want to, I want to!” She nearly squeals in delight, jumping up and down.

Poppy and Raven squat down to Kizzie’s level to give her a hug and I get a strange sensation in my stomach. I can’t help but notice how they look like actual District Twelve residents. There isn’t a single thing that screams “Capitol” to me. With their blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, they look like any other merchant family in Twelve.

“Um, if you reach out to her, you didn’t hear it from me.” I add as an afterthought, knowing how Madge has a distaste for handouts. Madge on the other hand, may have been born as a merchant, lived a privileged life up until a few months ago, but her distaste for handouts and her stubborn attitude when it comes to making sure she’s earning her keep is Seam, through and through.

“Cool.” I say with a huge grin, feeling an overwhelming sense of excitement at being able to do something for Madge. If only all my problems were this simple to solve.

* * *

**| Poppy Kadinski – 12’s New Mayor |**

“Are you certain that Snow is planning to visit our Victor’s?” I ask my father, speaking into the microphone, only after ensuring the device that distorts all surveillance is up and running. Dad sent it to me, saying it was a gift from an ally in District Three. Beetee something. It is such a simple thing really, no one would ever guess its purpose. It looks like any other golden coin you might find in the districts. The traditional Panem drachma has on one side, an image of Snow’s sinister face, and on the other side, the emblem of the games: Snow’s most prized accomplishment. However, this coin, when you shine the light enhancer on it, is replaced with a mockingjay on one side, and a jabberjay on the other. The symbols of our victors, only made visible with the aid of the light enhancer. All you must do is place the coin on whichever device you are speaking into, and somehow, it transmits a signal to any audio or visual device within a twenty-yard radius. I must say, it is rather magnificent and most brilliant. On the other hand, if anyone knew I possessed such a thing; well, let’s just say I could be killed for having it in my possession.

“Yes darling, but let’s get back to that in a moment. How are things holding up in Twelve? Are the residents accepting of you?”

“Eehh . . . they’re warming up . . . slowly.” I reply uncertainly.

“That is to be expected. Raven does nothing to help, I’m sure.”

“It is what it is, Dad.” I say, frowning at my father’s distaste for my husband. Truthfully, he has never much cared for Raven or the status his family holds in the Capitol.

“This is true my dear, this is true. About Coriolanus, he is planning a trip to Twelve the morning of the tour. Amy, I believe he is beginning to lose it, but the measures he has gone to remain in power will do that to a man.”

“Should I warn them?”

“No! You mustn’t let on that you possess any information. If word gets out, he will know where the leak came from and we will be powerless to assist in the cause. You are my entire world Amy, you and Kizzie; I would just _die_ if anything happened to either of you!”

“But not Raven?” I ask, with a tremulous laugh.

“Ehh . . . he’s growing on me.” Dad says, letting out a timid chuckle.

“Okay Dad. And . . . what about _her?_ Is she still giving you trouble?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about such frivolous things Amnesty, you leave me to deal with _her_. I only want you to focus on your duties in Twelve and ensuring that our Lovestruck Fools remain safe and protected. They are of the utmost importance, without them, we will fail. That is certain.”

“Dad, you must work on referring to me as Poppy. Amy is gone. But . . . don’t you find it a bit hypocritical?”

“What’s that?”

“That we are rallying everyone up, fighting to end the games. To end the slaughter of children. However, this “Coin” person has no reservations about using the very children sent into the arena to do her bidding. I don’t trust her choices Dad; I don’t like this, not one bit. It’s not right.”

“Amy— Poppy, I— you’re right, but right now she is the lesser of two evils. Let us focus on one dictator at a time. Right now, the plan must stay the same. Veering of course from her intentions could very well be detrimental to us all.”

“I understand Dad.” I tell him as the coin begins to vibrate, informing me that I have thirty seconds to complete my call before the surveillance is up and running again. 

_I must find a way to discreetly get one of these coins to Katniss or Peeta._ I tell myself as I say my goodbyes to my father and end the call.

* * *

**| Madge |**

“Hey Madge, are you headed to see Katniss?” I jump, startled from the sound of Peeta’s voice. I just left the mayor’s house; my old house . . . from teaching her daughter her first piano lesson. She really is a sweet little girl. At first, I had my reservations, but I think I actually like her. As hard as I tried, it’s hard to dislike a cute, bouncy, beautiful little girl like Kizzie. With those brilliant blue eyes and her golden blonde ringlets, she reminds me so much of myself when I was that age. What I wouldn’t give to be seven years old again, without a single care in the world.

I didn’t even realize how much I missed playing until I sat down at my old piano bench. It felt more than amazing and was just what I needed. I must have been on Cloud 9 as I was walking home, because I didn’t even realize I had passed the bakery.

“I wasn’t, but that actually sounds like a good idea.” I tell Peeta with a smile. I am riding out my high, certain there isn’t a thing in the world that can bring me down.

“Mind if I walk with you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“Can you give me one second? I just need to run inside and grab something before my mother gets here.” Peeta runs inside and is back out in less than ten seconds.

“That was fast.” I say, noticing the ‘Mellark Bakery’ logo on the folded over paper bag he is carrying.

“Yeah, they’re cookies for tonight. I promised Prim I would bake her favorite for dessert. Chocolate peanut butter.”

My mouth begins to water at the name. It sounds so delicious. “Are you not supposed to be there when your mom is working?” I see a flash of pain cross Peeta’s eyes at the mention of his mother.

“She um . . . she blames me for my dad leaving, for the district shunning her. She still isn’t speaking to me, but she and Dad have an arrangement. She never much liked working in the bakery anyway, so Dad, Rye and I run the bakery. “In house” stuff like dealing with the customer’s, baking, and all the prep work. Mom comes in around three o’clock and does the closing down stuff, as well as the books. For now, anyway.”

“I didn’t know your dad left, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s a good thing. I mean, I really hate her for so many things, but . . . but she’s my mom. And even though she’s spent her life hating me, I don’t know, it still hurts that she hates me so much. Graham too. I think that hurts worse.” Even though my mother never abused me in any way, I can relate to his words. My mother was never an actual “mother” to me, but it didn’t matter. I still love her. _Loved._

“Why does Graham—”

“He says I made the “stories” up I told Katniss in the arena. You know, the ones when we were in the cave?” I nod, vividly remembering Peeta’s not so “stories”.

“How?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. I don’t understand how anyone who knew Peeta prior to the games could have heard his stories and not immediately realized they were true. From a time before I can even remember, I have memories of Peeta coming to school with his various injuries. He played it off as being clumsy, fighting with his brothers, or occupational hazards but I always knew the true cause. Plus, there were a few times I ran into Peeta late at night, only to find him hiding outside nursing an injury. A few of those times I kidnapped him, rushing him to the safety of the Everdeen’s where he sought out treatment for some rather nasty burns.

“Holly says he’s blind to everything she did to me. I mean, I guess I understand it. Mom never hurt me in front of him and she always treated him like the golden child. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about them anymore. How are you feeling?” I don’t blame him for wanting to push them to the furthest recesses of his head. Talking about things makes them real; out of sight, out of mind.

I think it’s sad that Peeta’s own brother is blind to the witch’s abuse, yet his wife sees clearly the wicked woman she is. I brush it from my mind and chuckle at Peeta’s question. “Actually Peeta, I’m really good. I feel absolutely amazing right this minute.” I admit, unable to conceal the ear-splitting grin that overcomes my face.

“I can tell, you’re literally glowing. What is the cause of this, or should I say _who_?” Peeta grins, waggling his eyebrows.

“It’s not Gale, if that’s what you are insinuating. Actually, if you must know, the mayor asked me if I would give her daughter piano lessons. I just . . . I’ve missed it so much, being able to play the piano, I mean. Before, well, you remember. If I was happy, sad, upset, or even angry, I would play. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I sat down at the piano bench; until my fingers glided across the keys.”

“What was it like? Going back into your old house? Was it awkward? And what is the new mayor like? I only met her briefly the day they swore her in. I heard her husband was a sponsor, so I figure it’s better for me to stay as far away as possible, so that I don’t say something that could get me killed.” Peeta asks, slowly lowering his voice until it is barely above a whisper. Should I tell him the truth? That the mayor— that she is _one of us?_

“Honestly Peeta? That house was never a home, it was much too big for me and my parents. And—” No, I don’t trust that there aren’t more listening devices throughout the district. More that I do not know about.

“What’s wrong Madge?”

Thinking better of it, I make a confession instead. “You’re going to think I’m a horrible person for saying this; I feel horrible for just thinking it. But . . . when I’m spending time with the Hawthorne’s in their tiny little house, it feels more like a home than anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Why would I think you’re a horrible person? That’s not a bad thing Madge, that’s good. I’m glad you have that. Just because you're happy and have made a new “home” for yourself doesn’t mean you love your parents any less. I mean, look at me and my screwed-up relationships with my parents. I think of Katniss’ mom as more of a mother to me than my own mother, but that doesn’t mean I don’t _love_ my own mother. Do you think that makes _me_ a bad person?”

“NO! Of course, not Peeta, you are probably one of the best people I know.” His eyes avert from mine, focusing on a rock near his feet.

“Good people don’t kill, Madge.” He mumbles under his breath, kicking at the rock. I reach out to touch his shoulder, trying to get him to look at me but he flinches back.

“Peeta, you didn’t have a choice.” I tell him, trying to offer him some comfort.

“Don’t make excuses for me, there is always a choice Madge. It might not be pretty, but there is always a choice.”

“If you chose differently, you would have died. Which means—”

“I know Madge.” He yells at me, tensing up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. This might sound cruel or whatever, but I don’t regret my actions, my choices. The alternative would have meant that Katniss would be dead, and that is not a choice I could live with . . . or die for. Anyway, let's talk about something else.”

_Good idea._ I think to myself. “I’ve been meaning to stop by because I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” He asks, genuinely confused.

“For coming over every day. For checking up on me.” Peeta stops walking and pulls me into his arms.

“You’re my friend Madge. My best friend. I love you and nothing will ever change that.” I give him a smile and we pick up our pace. Peeta opens the gate for us to enter the village and I follow him to his house.

“I found a straggler on my way home; I hope it’s okay.” Peeta yells into the room once we are inside. I copy him when he slips his shoes off in the foyer, noticing a few other pairs of shoes. _That’s weird, that’s a “Lilly” thing._ I think to myself at the sight of all the shoes. I follow Peeta until we are in the main room, surprised to see Katniss’ family making themselves useful in Peeta’s kitchen when he wasn’t even home. Lilly and Dylan are standing over a hot stove while Prim and Katniss are sitting at the kitchen table. Prim is cutting up vegetables on one side of the table while Katniss is sitting adjacent to her with a trash can between her legs, peeling potatoes. She has that ever-present scowl on her face until she sees Peeta. When her eyes land on him, her entire face morphs into something beautiful. She pushes the trash can out of her way and literally runs into his arms, nearly knocking him down. Something about their greeting causes a fluttering in my stomach, followed by an image of Gale that pops into my head.

Before I know it, a tiny pair of arms are wrapped around me, almost knocking _me_ down.

“Madge! I’ve missed you!” Prim squeals into my shirt. “You’re staying for dinner, right? Please? Please!” She looks up at me with the biggest eyes, and it pains me to have to say no.

“I would love to, but I can’t. Not tonight. Hazelle is expecting me and if I don’t show up, she will worry.” The disappointed look on Prim’s face squeezes my heart. “Maybe another night?” I suggest and that seems to do the trick because Prim’s frown instantly transforms into a radiant smile. She looks at her parents, as if asking for permission.

“Madge, you know you are welcome here anytime.” I smile and nod to Lilly.

“Thank you, Lilly.”

Peeta goes over to the sink, washing his hands before he takes Katniss’ seat at the table and pushes her away. “I can finish this, why don’t you go spend some time with Madge before she has to leave.” Katniss pouts, but gives Peeta a kiss before she pulls me upstairs to Peeta’s room.

My forehead wrinkles in confusion when I take in the sight of the bedroom. This room looks like it should belong to Katniss instead of Peeta. The immaculate bed, which is pushed against the wall furthest from the door is made, which is probably the only thing in the room not _Katniss._ But Katniss’ clothes are tossed all over the room, adding to my confusion. When I turn my head, the closet door is open, revealing what appears to be men’s clothes.

Katniss closes the door behind us and pulls me to Peeta’s bed, a massive grin on her face. “Thank you so much for saving me!”

“You’re welcome, but . . . why are you guys all at Peeta’s house? This is his house, right?” I ask her, knitting my brows in confusion.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that probably seems a little weird. So, my parents, well, mostly my dad had a fit that I was spending so much time with Peeta. Can you believe he thought he could forbid me from sleeping at his house?”

“Well, I mean, normally, I mean . . . IF neither of you survived the games; then yes, I would say it was weird.”

“Yeah, well anyway, I told them that they were living in MY house, and they are my guest. If they don't like what I do in MY house, then feel free to leave it.” She explains so casually, as if she is telling me about any other simple thing and not being a little brat to her wonderful parents. Her parents who are still very much _alive._

“Katniss! You didn’t!” I exclaim, covering my mouth with my hand. She smirks, her mouth forming into a firm line as she nods. “I know, I know. Childish and immature. Stubborn spoiled brat, Peeta told me already, but Madge . . . I can’t . . . I _need_ to be with Peeta.”

“Hey, no judgement here.” I tell her, urging her to continue.

“I stormed out of the house after that, and Mom came over a few days later saying Dad wanted to talk. Madge, ever since I came home, I get these nightmares; like, they’re really, really, god-awful and gruesome and Peeta is the only one who understands.”

I completely understand what she means about nightmares, and if there was something— or someone who could help alleviate my own demons, I would want them there too. “And he gets them too. Sometimes. We’re not having sex, and I think Dad finally understood because he agreed to “being okay”—” Katniss explains using finger air quotes. “—with it, but with a few stipulations. I have to spend time at home with them during the day, which is fine because Peeta is usually at the bakery all day. And then, from the time Prim comes home from school until after dinner, we all spend that time together. Usually, I meet Prim at school, and we swing by the bakery for Peeta on our way home. But Prim got out early today, which is why—” She loses her train of thought, shaking her head.

“Anyway, the house thing; we alternate between my house and Peeta’s for dinner. To take turns with the mess and everything.” She explains, clearing up my confusion as to why her family is cooking in Peeta’s kitchen. She seems very manic, spewing her words out at a million miles a second. Or anxious at the very least.

“Oh, okay, that makes sense and I think it’s kind of nice.” There is a pregnant pause for a moment, and I notice Katniss squirming in place, picking at the skin on her thumb.

“Katniss, is everything okay?” Startled by my question, she meets my eyes for a moment, but quickly glances down to her toes. Something is clearly bothering her, I just have to get it out of her.

“Um, yeah. I uh . . . I wanted to ask you something Madge.” She places her hand next to her mouth as if she’s trying to tell me a secret. “About _sex._ ” She whispers, a blush creeping up her cheeks, reaching the tips of her ears. I can feel the heat in my own face at the mention of the word.

“Um, okay, what about it?”

“Well, I know we don’t normally talk about this kind of thing, but, um . . . have you ever . . . you know . . . done it?” I let out a cackle from deep within my belly.

“Who would I—? I’ve never even had a boyfriend—” I cackle, managing to get the words out once I’ve caught my breath.

“I mean . . . _technically,_ that’s not a requirement. But . . . I don’t know, Gale?” She asks, shrugging her shoulders, looking anywhere but at my face. This forces another laugh to explode from my lips.

“Have you and Peeta?” I ask, turning her question back to her. Judging by how red she just turned, I would think her face was on fire.

“No, no we haven’t—” She responds defensively. “—I mean, we haven’t _actually_ had sex, but . . . other things.” I am officially intrigued.

“Do you want to?”

“Madge! Oh my god, no. No, that’s not— no. We can’t, it’s—” She stumbles over her words, not really making any sense. Clearly, she’s lying. She **_SO_** wants to do it.

“Katniss, come on. It’s me. You can tell me. No judgement, remember?”

“It’s just that . . . well, at first it was just kissing. A little kiss here and there . . . and that seemed to satisfy us. And then we needed more. So, the kissing became more intense. And for a while, it was enough. But then it turned into, I don’t know what to call it other than “intense make out” sessions. And then touching, yes, lots of touching. And like, I don’t know, it’s like it’s not enough anymore. No matter how close we are, it’s never close enough. I mean, for a while it is, but then we always need more.” She squeezes her eyes shut and then hides her face in her hands. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just told you that. What is wrong with me? This isn’t me. Ugh!”

“You’re in love Katniss, all of that—" I lift my hand and wiggle it in the air, motioning to everything she just spoke about. “—stuff is natural.”

“I don’t want children, I never have. But I want to be closer to Peeta, and if we do . . . _that_ , then the possibility of children is . . . possible.”

Maybe I haven’t had sex but that doesn’t mean that I am completely useless to offer her some advice. “My dad used to get these magazines from the Capitol and normally he would just toss them in the trash, but . . . well, you know me, I’m nosy. I read this one article about sex once, and there are a few ways you can _do it_ without risking pregnancy. Of course, it’s not guaranteed, but I guess it’s better than nothing, right?”

Katniss nods, scooting closer to me and staring at me greedily, soaking up my every word. “So, the guy can . . . you know, pull out before he . . . you know. And the other way I read about was about counting the days between your cycles. Really, there is only a small window of opportunity to get pregnant. I think I remember reading that it’s something like two weeks from the day you start your period. Did you know in the Capitol, women don’t have their own children? They have these special doctors called “fertility specialist” and couple’s pay other women— I think they are called surrogates that carry their children for them? Wait a minute, I bet your mom knows some herbs or something—”

“You seriously think I am going to go to my mother for help about having sex? Madge, I think you’ve lost your mind—” I smile at this statement, glad she can still joke around with me about this kind of thing. “And . . . that doesn’t surprise me; about women not carrying their own children. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, tell me about Gale.” She asks acquisitively, inching herself closer to me.

“Gale is . . . well, he’s Gale. He works all the time, so I barely see him.” I can’t help but smile at the thought of Gale when Katniss rolls her eyes at me.

“Are you two like a thing now? I hardly ever see him anymore, but I . . . I’ve noticed a change in him.”

“A change? What kind of change?” I ask, my curiosity taking over.

“I don’t know . . . he’s . . . different—”

“Good different, or bad different?”

“Well, not good or bad, just _different._ It’s like . . . like he’s . . . I don’t know . . . happy. Which is a strange emotion coming from Gale Hawthorne. But anytime I ask about you he turns into a brick wall. I think it was about two months ago when I noticed the shift in him, and now he’s all smiles and positive thinking. It’s just . . . weird and I can’t help but think that you are what’s responsible for this personality deviation.”

“He told me he loved me—” Katniss and I both turn to the door when we hear someone knocking.

“It’s open!” Katniss screams to whoever is on the other side. The door creaks open and Prim’s bright face appears.

“Katniss?”

“What’s up Little Duck? Is everything okay?”

Prim enters the room and closes the door behind her. “Yeah, everything is fine. Dinner is almost ready, but I was wondering if I could talk to Madge for a minute before she has to leave.” Katniss looks at me, as if asking for my permission.

I look over to the clock on the nightstand next to the bed to check the time. “Oh, crap, I didn’t realize how late it was! I don’t need to leave right this minute, but I will need to leave soon.” I tell them. Katniss stands up and walks over to me, giving me a hug.

“Is it okay if we talk in here?” Prim asks her. For a moment I forgot this was Peeta’s house.

“Of course.” Katniss affirms, standing up to leave.

“Oh, and you might want to go check on Peeta, Dad pulled him over to our house for a little while. Who knows what kind of threats he was making?” Prim smirks, looking at Katniss and giving her a cheeky grin.

“Dammit!” Katniss runs to the door but turns around to look at me before making her exit. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye first?” I give her a nod and she bolts out the door screaming, “DAAAD!!!”

“Is everything okay Prim?” I ask her, noticing the concerned expression clouding her features.

“Yeah, it is. I just wanted to see how you were doing. After the . . . you know.” She means after my breakdown. When her and Lilly came to my house that night and had to sedate me.

“I’m feeling much better Prim. I’ve been meaning to stop by sometime to thank you. I can’t even begin to tell you how much that meant to me; what you did for me.”

“Madge, its—”

“No, Prim. I’m not talking about _that_ day; I’m talking about all the days after that one. But especially that one week when I was in that catatonic like state. You came over every single day and sat with me. You talked to me and would brush my hair. I remember one day specifically when you came over with a grilled cheese sandwhich, complaining about Katniss.”

“You knew I was there? I thought— I wasn’t sure what I thought, but something in me said that maybe you were aware of what was going on around you. If you don’t mind me asking, what was it _like_?”

“I don’t mind Prim; and it was awful. It was like . . . like I was trapped inside my head, unable to break free. I was screaming, yelling, kicking and throwing punches trying to break out of my own mind. Don’t get me wrong, I love Katniss to death, but she is not the most patient of people. She would come over, pop in for a minute to check on me and leave just as quickly. And I think it made Peeta uncomfortable, watching me just staring at the walls. But you; you treated me as if I was really “there”. You didn’t let my altered mental state scare you away. You carried on a conversation for the both of us. I remember you telling me everything that was going on, all the gossip and drama that you knew about. So, thank you Prim.” I lean in and wrap my arms around Prim’s tiny frame.

“DINNER’S READY!” Dylan screams from downstairs.

“I guess that’s our cue.” Prim says with a smile. 

We make our way downstairs and I am more than a little surprised when I see Haymitch seated at the dining room table.

“Madge, remember, you can come over anytime. If we aren’t home just check over here.” Lilly tells me as she fills the table with plates.

“Thank you, I better get going. Oh, and Haymitch?”

“Yeah?” He says, looking up at me.

“Thanks for the reference.” His forehead wrinkles in confusion, lifting a brow.

“Come again?” He asks, and for possibly the first time, I notice the absence of a flask in his hands.

“I’ve got a job teaching the mayor’s daughter piano lessons. I know it was you, so thank you.”

“I uh, I didn’t . . . it um—” I walk over to where Haymitch is seated and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you Haymitch.” I tell him, squeezing his shoulders, and maybe it’s my eyes, or perhaps I’m seeing things; but I could swear that I just saw Haymitch _blush._

* * *

**|** **Katniss |**

“Katniss, Kat, wake up.” I hear Peeta’s voice before I’m fully awake and slowly open my eyes. Except when I open my eyes, everything is pitch black and there is something covering my face. When I reach up to remove whatever is blocking my sight, Peeta gently places his hands reassuringly on top of mine.

“What the— why can’t I see anything?” I demand, tensing up at my sudden blindness.

“Good morning beautiful.” He says, placing a kiss to my cheek and then pulling me into his arms for a moment.

“It’s a surprise.” He whispers into my ear with one hand on my back, the other pulling on my arm as he helps me to a sitting position. I have never been the kind of person that enjoys surprises; I like to know everything.

“I don’t like being left in the dark, pun intended.” I scowl, unsure if he can see it because of the blindfold that’s covering my face, as well as not knowing how much light is in the room. I know today is tour day, and who knows what surprises it has in store for me, so I’m not sure I can handle anything extra. Not to mention that the inability to see takes me back to the arena, back to the tornado. Back to when the gamemaker’s distorted our sight, blinding us all. _Back to when they tried to get us to kill each other._

“You’ll like this one, I promise. Just . . . trust me. You do trust me, right?”

“You know I do.” I tell him, fighting the smile that is forming on my lips. 

“What time is it anyway?” I ask as Peeta guides me out of the bed and through his room. With the blindfold securely over my eyes, he helps me get dressed. Once it became clear that the blindfold was more trouble than it was worth, he finally allowed me to remove it, but only in the bathroom. 

Thankful for the absence of the blindfold, I take my time in the bathroom. I do my business, wash my hands and face and then brush my teeth. All the while, wondering what Peeta has up his sleeve. As soon as I open the door, Peeta is waiting for me with that damn blindfold in his hand. He secures it around my eyes, folding it in a knot at the back of my head.

“Is this really necessary?” I snap at him, scowling once more.

“Katniss, I promise you’re going to love it.” He trills. How someone can be so chipper this early in the morning is beyond me, which only adds to my aggravation

“What time is it anyway?” I ask, conceding to the fact that he intends to keep me blind until he reveals this “surprise.”

“Really early. Sun’s not even up yet.” He informs me, helping me get my jacket and boots on and then leads us out the door. 

Peeta interlocks our arms together once we pass through the front door, never releasing me from his grip. Together, we stomp through the foot of snow that covers the ground, making our way to Peeta’s surprise. Using my remaining senses, I intuit that we are headed into the woods. Or maybe it’s the meadow, I can’t be certain without my sight. It’s probably the meadow since the fence is electrified today, due to everyone arriving today. _Capitol wouldn’t want their precious minions to be without power._

Finally, after what feels like an hour of walking through the snow, Peeta pulls me backwards into his arms and gently removes the blindfold. Even though I complained about not being able to see from the moment I woke up, I keep my eyes closed for another moment, inhaling the sounds of mother nature. I pick up the sounds of tree branches scraping against each other from the force of the wind; the scampering of chipmunks racing up a tree as they hop from one spot to another. I hear the symphony of birds chirping their morning melody, signaling the start of a new day. The mockingjay’s are not far away, mimicking the bird’s song, and then there is something else that is slightly out of place. Something that is not of mother nature’s doing. It sounds like . . . like the crackling of a fire?

The anticipation is driving me mad, so slowly, I open one eye, and sure enough we are in a small clearing in the meadow, surrounded by trees. Peeta has prepared a picnic, surrounding us in my favorite things. Trees, nature and him. 

The entire district is covered in a blanket of white, minus this one tiny spot in front of me where the snow is shoveled into a heaping pile. He must have done this days ago, allowing the sun to soak up any remnants that he was unable to scrape away because the ground isn’t even wet.

There is a blanket spread on the ground for us to sit on, as well as an additional blanket to cover up with. Less than a foot away, he has built a small fire to keep us warm, which means he must have woken up hours ago, made the trek out here to start the fire and _then_ walked all the way back home to wake me up and bring me out here. Now, I feel guilty for giving him such a hard time this morning. 

I turn around to face him, my eyes filled with tears at his thoughtfulness and wrap my arms around his neck. “PEETA! When did you— how did— oh my god Peeta, this is incredible, it’s just . . . it’s amazing!” My mind is blown at his creativity, at his thoughtfulness. He has transformed a day I have been dreading for months into something . . . better. No matter what happens for the rest of the day, I will always remember the incredible way it began.

“I just thought it would be nice for us to get away from everything. You know, spend a quiet day in the meadow, with just the two of us before we are bombarded by our prep teams and . . . everything.” His cheeks pinken, and from the way he’s looking at the ground I know it has nothing to do with the frigid temperatures. And then a smile forms on my lips at the thought of a bashful Peeta. 

He kneels onto the blanket, lifting the lid to the picnic basket and pulls out a plate and two cups. Then he looks up at me, extending his arm, his eyes twinkling with the setting moon. “Come have some breakfast with me.” He urges, inviting me down to him.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice as I drop down next to him, joining him on the blanket. We feast on all my favorites; strawberries, oranges, and somehow, he even managed to acquire some grapes. Where did he even get all of this from; and better yet, when? I have to give him credit, I never knew he could be so duplicitous.

I wonder if all the secret phone calls with Effie was actually him scheming to create this perfect date for us. Normally, he orders what we need from our local grocer; I know it’s only to give him business, but all this food . . . it couldn’t have come from anywhere but the Capitol.

“Oh my gosh Peeta, this is delicious!” I moan with a mouthful of oranges, sighing with pleasure from the tart, juicy fruit in my mouth. His eyes meet mine and they darken slightly, before a mischievous glint appears in his eye. Maybe it’s not mischievous, but more like . . . seductive. Whatever it is, I like it.

Before I know it, he pounces on top of me, pinning me to the ground. He intertwines his fingers with mine, trapping my hands above my head. He leans down to kiss me, dipping his tongue into my mouth.

“Mmm . . . you’re right. Mouthwatering—” He says, suckling on my lower lip, “Scrumptious, absolutely—” He leans down again, giving me another kiss, “—insatiable—” Forgetting altogether about the delectable food, I lock my arms around his neck and savor his lips. Vulnerable to my kisses, I wait for the perfect moment to flip us over so that he is the one pinned to the ground. Straddling his hips, I never break our connection and cherish this moment, wishing with all my might it never had to end.

Finally, we come up for air, never breaking our gaze. The love in Peeta’s eyes is so prevalent, I think I could stare into his striking blue eyes for the rest of time and be completely satiated. His hand reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I love you Katniss.” He tells me with so much sentiment that I can literally feel the love emanating from his pores. It is in this moment that I know; without a doubt how absolutely, completely, irrevocably I am in love with this boy.

His eyes sparkle under the moonlight when he looks at me. Looking at me, no— _into_ me, as if he has a direct link into my soul. He looks at me like I am the most beautiful thing in the world to him and I love it.

Eventually, I slide off his hips and curl my body next to his. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his thrumming heart. It is the sound I fall asleep to each night and it quite possibly could be my most favorite sound in the world.

We lie here for a while, watching the miracle of another sunrise bleed its beautiful array of colors into the sky, as it does every other day. Except today is not like the others, today is tour day.

A shudder runs through me when I suddenly get a flashback of the other night. When Peeta and I were kissing, and it just wasn’t enough anymore. My conversation with Madge comes to the forefront of my mind when I remember the _want_ I felt. 

Peeta and I wanted— no, we _needed_ more as we explored each other’s body’s more intricately than we ever have before. There was a time when simply being in Peeta’s arms and kissing each other was enough, but now; I always feel like I need more. It’s like no matter how close I curl into him, no matter how much of our skin is touching, it’s just never enough. I think about needing him inside of me, wondering if that would be enough. Would it satisfy that _hunger?_

I begin lightly trailing my fingertips along Peeta’s abdomen and instantly feel the goosebumps appear on his skin.

“Stop . . . you know what that does to me.” He sighs, shivering before he begins to supply me with my own form of torture and begins trailing kisses down my neck until he reaches my collar bone, sending a shiver coursing through me.

My body is filled with electricity for Peeta which sends my mind back to the last time it felt that way; when Haymitch barged into Peeta’s house and caught us in a compromising position. I am so glad we are out here alone, with no Haymitch to interrupt us. Oh god, Haymitch!

“OH CRAP! Haymitch!” I yell out, my eyes opening to see the sun perfectly straight up in the sky, signaling it is getting close to noon.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re thinking about _Haymitch_ right now?” Peeta groans, giving me those sad, pathetic eyes and pouting his lip. He reaches out to pull me closer to him.

“No Peeta,” I begin, removing his hands from underneath my shirt. “—he said not to let him oversleep. Come on, we need to go wake him up.” I sit up, scooting away from Peeta. I know that if I do not remove myself from his touch, I will be incapable of saying no for long. Scooting back, I proceed to button my shirt back up and tame the stray hairs on my head back in place.

“I um, I’m going to need a minute.” Peeta tells me, shifting uncomfortable on the ground.

Embarrassed, I look anywhere else but at Peeta and simply nod. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll um . . . I’ll start packing up.” I say, thankful for something to do.

Peeta takes a few deep breaths and then he is by my side, helping me consolidate our remaining food. We throw some water on the fire and fold the blanket before heading towards Victor’s Village. While Peeta has mastered walking with his new leg on solid ground, making this trek in the snow is a challenge in itself and it takes us much longer than it normally would to get to Haymitch’s house.

Once we reach Haymitch’s front door, I brace myself for the putrid stench that normally fills his home. However, when we enter his house, I am surprised that it smells . . . _almost_ clean. Or, well, cleaner than it usually is. I wonder if he hired someone to help him tidy up since he knows Effie is coming today. The clock above his stove reads 10:30, meaning we are not as late as I originally thought. He still has at least an hour before Effie arrives.

Haymitch is passed out at the kitchen table, as usual. He is snoring loud enough to rumble the house, and his head is hidden in the crook of his arm. Most likely, he passed out drunk earlier this morning. Even twenty-five years after his games, Haymitch still refuses to sleep in the dark. I probably would too, if I didn’t have Peeta. He is my light in the darkness.

“Haymitch, come on. Wake up Haymitch, it’s time.” Peeta says, gently nudging our near comatose mentor. Having been on the other end of waking Haymitch up from an alcohol induced slumber, I don’t even attempt to wake him up. Instead, I spot an empty cannister and grab it, making my way to the sink. I turn the faucet on and fill it slightly over halfway, leaving just enough room so that it doesn’t slosh around during the walk back to Haymitch.

‘ _Watch out.’_ I tell Peeta, motioning for him to move out of the way. Slowly creeping next to Haymitch, I dump the entire contents of the cannister onto his head and quickly jump back, bracing myself for his swinging hands that are most likely clutching onto at least one knife.

“What the hell! Why am I all wet?” Haymitch grumbles once he spots Peeta and I in front of him.

“You said to wake you up; it’s tour day. Effie will be here in about an hour.”

“I said to wake me up, not give me pneumonia.” He scoffs, reaching for a towel to pat his face dry.

“Well, you’re awake now, so mission accomplished. I suggest you take a bath first—” I say, grabbing Peeta’s hand and dragging him to the door. “—and you might want to clean up a little, you know how Effie is.” I finish, slamming the door behind us.

“I just did!” I hear him grumble from the other side of the door.

Peeta and I both look, first to my house, and then to his, not sure which one to go to first. Once our prep teams show up, we will be separated until the cameras arrive, a moment I am dreading. I do not like it when Peeta and I are not together, but I absolutely _detest_ it when we are forced apart.

However, when we turn our heads to Peeta’s house, there is a sleek, fancy black car that is most certainly from the Capitol camped out in his driveway, making our decision for us.

Tightening my grip on Peeta’s hand, we sprint over to his house, wondering who our guests are, yet something in my gut says I know exactly who it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you hoping to witness Peeta’s swimming lessons; trust me, I have not forgotten about that. Drop me a line . . . questions, comments? What would you like to see in the chapters to come?
> 
> A line from Chapter 3 comes from . . . . . . . . Lucy Gray . . . . . . or well, Snow’s subconscious
> 
> ‘As long as you can find katniss, you will never starve. Do you remember that day Coriolanus? I wonder if that’s how the people in the district’s feel; that Katniss is feeding them . . . hope. Soon, their bellies will be full and—'


	3. Deal with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In chapter 2 Katniss has a talk with Madge and inadvertently learns some new information, pushing her to have a talk with her dad. Peeta initiates a talk with Mr. Everdeen, thinking he is going to get scolded for his and Katniss' "late night visits" only to have Mr. Everdeen thank him for helping his family out all those years ago. Dylan takes Katniss to the secret place in the woods where she hopes to get some answers, only to have more questions. Haymitch (with inspiration from Hazelle) does a nice thing for Madge; Poppy chats with her dad with a fancy coin that disrupts the Capitol's "bugs" with an idea to share it with K & P.; Madge and Katniss have "girl talk" and we even get a little bit of Madge/Prim. Katniss wakes up blindfolded, as Peeta whisks her away to the woods for some "alone time" before the tour. Katniss and Peeta wake Haymitch up and on their way home they see a car in his driveway... It can only be one person, right? 
> 
> In Chapter 3 Katniss and Peeta come face to face with the devil himself . . . And let the games begin . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone reading my story, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I recently read Suzanne Collins' new book and tried to incorporate some of that into Snow's POV.
> 
> Still looking for a beta or just someone to pre-read and help me check for typos/missing words ect... Send me a message if you are interested!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr, I am "AmeliaOdair"

****

**Another Way Out**

**Chapter 3 : Deal with the Devil**

**| Peeta |**

Using my free hand to open the door because my other hand is being held hostage by the death grip from Katniss’ hand, I slowly push the door open. I tense up when I feel my heart begin to accelerate from the thought of some _Capitolite_ laying their filthy hands on any of my things. It’s true that this is my home, but technically, it is the property of the Capitol, and thus, belongs to President Snow. However, the thought of him or any of his goons in my home sends a murderous rage festering inside me.

The moment my foot passes the threshold my head snaps to the left, meeting Katniss' stare. Both of us immediately recognize the all too familiar rancid aroma of blood and roses filling the air, informing us, without a doubt, who our intruder is.

_‘Snow.’_ Katniss conveys, casting me a worried glance and gripping even tighter onto my hand.

No one appears to be on the main level of the house, so we tiptoe, quietly making our way up the steps and to the second floor. Stealthily, we creep down the hallway, eager to face our intruder, yet anxious at the same time. I instantly take notice of the door to my art studio, which is always, without fail kept shut and locked up tight; is slightly ajar. It is what grabs my attention, confirming that something is amiss. All of our friends and family; or really anyone who visits us knows to steer clear of that room, aware of what lies beyond the threshold.

Curiosity overpowers our fear, and together we make our way into that room. This is the one and only room I ask Katniss to stay out of, not because I have anything to hide but because I know the sight of my paintings will most likely trigger her gag reflex, in addition to causing her now dormant nightmares to return. They are not so much paintings, but a visual timeline of each of my nightmares, a vivid recollection of our time in the arena. 

When I glance down the row of paintings, for the first time I see them as an onlooker would and cannot help but notice how each one is more vibrant than its neighbor. Most likely because the nightmares become more lucid and lifelike the closer the Victory Tour gets.

Katniss doesn’t want or need a visual to remind her of the horrors we faced in the arena. But for me, it’s like . . . like a form of therapy. It’s like if I have the ability to remove the images from my mind and transfer them onto a canvas; by turning them into a still life portrait, something tangible, it grants me control; the power to lock them away forever, or even burn them if that’s what I wanted to do.

As much as I want to forget the horrors we faced and as much as I want to expunge the memories from my mind, at the same time I don’t want to forget. If I forget, then who would remember Thresh and Rue? And what about the other tributes? No, I need to remember, it’s what gives me the motivation to continue living my life. The drive to fight our battle.

Once the door is open, we see the backside of a man with fluffy snow-white hair. He is dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, slowly pacing the length of the room. His hands are clasped behind his back, giving a slight nod here and there, as if offering his approval at the paintings lining the wall.

“Dammit— Lucy . . . Kill . . . Mock—jay . . .” I think I hear him mumble to himself just as his body tenses for a moment. I am instantly intrigued and wonder who this “Lucy” is.

‘ _Did you—’_ I meet Katniss’ eyes, curious as to if I’m hearing things. She nods, confirming my sanity.

_'Peeta, I'm scared.'_ She shudders, squeezing my hand a little tighter, if that is even possible. I reciprocate, entwining our fingers, assuring her that I am not going anywhere.

_'It's going to be okay; he's not going to hurt us.'_ I tell her, though not quite certain myself. It is moments such as these that I am grateful for whatever forces have bestowed us with our telepathic link. The ability to communicate silently while in the presence of others has proven to be more than . . . useful.

“Aghhem . . . Excuse me, can I help you?” I announce our presence, clearing my throat to grab his attention. I would recognize that snowy white hair anywhere, I do not need to see his face to know his identity, but I still need him to turn around and face us.

“These are quite remarkable.” President Snow takes his time turning around as he compliments the painting behind him, presenting his face with an approving smirk. This particular painting details one of his ferocious mutts from the arena; a squirrel foaming at its mouth fills the page, while Katniss and I are drawn as miniscule beings in the far bottom left corner of the canvas. I am leaning over the side of the cornucopia gripping firmly onto Katniss’ calves while she aims the golden arrow at the Queen. Why am I not surprised that _this_ painting brings him pleasure?

On the other hand, I do not miss the way he sneers disapprovingly at the canvas portraying me and Katniss with our allies from District Eleven. I have captured us high up in a tree with our friends, seeking refuge from those who mean us harm. Katniss and I are settled in our sleeping bag on a branch; just below us are Thresh and Rue in an almost mirroring position. I remember that night so clearly as we swapped stories from our district’s.

“President Snow, what an honor, what—” Katniss begins to offer pleasantries, but the deleterious man in front of us cuts her off before she brings it to completion.

“I think we’ll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other. What do you think?” Snow says with his affected Capitol accent and a hint of arrogancy. His lips are plump and full, the skin appearing painfully tight as he speaks, causing me to believe they must be surgically altered. Lips that full just aren’t natural.

_‘I think it’s meant to highlight his features.’_ Katniss quips and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to mask my amusement.

“Yes, I think that would save time.” Katniss affirms, her voice confident and steady as she stands tall. She has one hell of a poker face but she can’t fool me. She is utterly terrified, as am I.

Snow continues to marvel over the neighboring paintings for a moment before a sly grin appears on his face. He follows it up with a nod of approval and then his eyes are back on me. “I heard you were talented Mr. Mellark, but I just _had_ to see it for myself. I would never believe that someone from as lowly a district as Twelve could produce such . . . works of art.” He begins, slithering to the far corner of the room and taking a seat in a chair behind a desk. Wait a minute, where did that desk come from? Before today, this room contained only my artwork, an easel, a handful of blank canvases, various containers of paint, my brushes, and a few other random art supplies. Either I’m losing it or, or— did he bring this furniture with him? Is it meant to . . . intimidate us?

_'What do you think he wants?'_ Katniss presses, never removing President Snow from her line of sight.

“Please, why don’t you have a seat?” Snow affirms, motioning for us to take a seat in the sophisticated looking high back chairs in front of him. However, I get the distinct impression the “please” was not merely a request. Katniss and I take a seat, refusing to release our grip on the other’s hand and scoot our chairs closer to the other so that our knees are brushing.

_'I have no idea, but I have a feeling we are about to find out. And . . . where did the desk and chairs come from?'_

_‘No clue.’_ She answers without missing a beat.

Unsure as to how I should respond to President Snow’s remark, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “President Snow, my paintings will be on display in the Capitol in just a few weeks, so I know you didn’t come all the way out here just to see them. Why don’t we forgo the pleasantries, and you can tell us why you have chosen to grace us with your presence.” I assert, holding my head up high, recalling my lessons on proper etiquette with Effie as I come off as unperturbed. I really hope he can’t see how utterly terrified I truly am.

“My advisors recommended I steer clear of you both; that you would be ah . . . difficult. But you are not planning to be difficult, are you Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark?” He articulates each syllable, hissing at the tail end of Katniss' name and clicking mine as it rolls off his tongue. I cringe from his condescending and taunting voice and suddenly, it feels as if my veins are filled with ice.

“No.” We reply in unison, shaking our heads as if needing to confirm our words.

“I didn’t think so. Anyone that would go to such great lengths to preserve their life and the life of their true love would never be interested in throwing it all away with both hands. Then, there are your families to consider; your mother, father, brother’s and a sister to think about; not to mention all those . . . _cousins_.” He spits the last word out venomously, keeping his eyes trained on Katniss; informing us that he is aware that Gale and his family are of no relation to her. 

“And you Mr. Mellark, I hear your father is rather well liked around here, and not one, but _two_ brothers. Yes, a lot of family indeed. What a _privilege_ to have such an abundance of family, what a privilege indeed.” President Snow snaps his head sharply to the left, as if he heard a noise; but just as quickly diverts his attention back on us.

_'Is he threatening . . . our families?'_ Even in my head, Katniss' words tremble warily.

“What brings you all the way to Twelve and so far from the Capitol, President Snow?” I demand, never breaking our gaze. I am screaming on the inside, fed up with his ambiguous threats; feeling as if I have already asked this question multiple times. I wish he would just get this over with and lay his cards on the table.

Ignoring my question, he touches the tips of his fingers to the tips of the fingers in his opposite hand, resting his chin on top and I see his eyes move slightly to the left as he speaks to Katniss. “Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice, Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire. You have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow into an inferno that destroys all of Panem. _We_ have a problem Miss Everdeen, a problem that began the moment you volunteered for your sister. A problem that only escalated when you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena.” He lowers his hands, lifting his head to reveal a sinister smile that shows off a set of, more than likely, surgically perfected white teeth. 

“If the Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane had any sense, he would’ve blown you both to bits right then and there. Unfortunately, he had a . . . sentimental streak, so here you are. Tell me Katniss—” Snow eerily reminds me of a snake in the way he once again hisses out the end of Katniss’ name, “—can you guess where he is?”

Inhaling her lungs full of air and straightening her back, Katniss speaks with so much conviction, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride. “I can only assume he had to answer for his actions.” Snow nods, grinning that eerie, sinister grin of his once more. His eyes ghost down to our hands, which are still linked together in unity and smiles. It is a smile of disgust, if I ever saw one.

“And you, Peeta Mellark. You caused a lot of problems for me in that arena; declaring your love for a fellow tribute on national television, expressing remorse after a kill, your alliance with that little girl, and all of your . . . _storytelling_.” Out of all the things he just listed, he doesn’t hide the fact that it is my “storytelling” that he finds the most egregious. And I get the impression he isn’t referring to my stories from the cave, but the story I gave to Rue as she took her final breaths.

“What can I say, I have an active imagination.” I tell him unblinkingly.

“Yes, I suppose you do. And you, Miss Everdeen; performing death rights for an opposing tribute and then supplying him with your district token. Yes, I must say that caused quite a . . . well, never you mind. What was I to do, but allow the two of you to play out your romance for the Capitol, the nation if you will. However, your little stunt in the arena has caused quite a mood change in the districts.”

“Mood change?” I ask him, my forehead wrinkling with confusion.

“You see Miss Everdeen, Mister Mellark, if one of their own can defy the Capitol and walk away unscathed, what’s to stop them from doing the same? What’s to prevent, say, an uprising in your hometown, or perhaps in another district?”

_‘Did you see that?’_ I ask Katniss, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“U-uprisings? We haven’t had any uprisings . . . have there been . . . uprisings . . . in the other districts?” Katniss stammers, questioning him curiously, yet cautiously. President Snow reaches up to rub his beard, his face contorting into a frown.

_‘See what?’_

“No, not as of yet, but they will follow if the course of things doesn’t change. Uprisings have been known to lead to revolution. Do you have any idea what that would lead to? How many deaths _you_ would be responsible for? Believe me when I say this, I do _not_ want that on your conscience. Whatever problems people have with the Capitol, you can be certain when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short period of time, the entire system would collapse.” Snow begins to rub a spot on his forehead, massaging it as if there was a pain there. Is he really blaming us? Surely, he doesn't believe either of us to be that naive. Or stupid.

“It must be very fragile, if all it takes is a handful of berries to bring it down.” Katniss asserts, once again sending a powerful surge of pride coursing through my body. I pluck a memory from my mind from a few weeks ago; of the night Katniss attempted to cook and ended up burning our entire meal. The entire chicken carcass, crispy and black; in hopes of staunching the smile forming on my lips.

It works; a little too well because Katniss tenses up, her eyes catching mine for a moment.

“It is fragile, but not in the way you suppose.” President Snow begins, once again, slightly jerking his head, but to the right this time.

_‘There, he did it again! Did you see it too, or am I imagining things?’_

“I didn’t mean to start any uprisings; it was never my intention. I just wanted for me and Peeta to go home and to get back to my sister. The gamemakers said— they changed the rule, and . . . I had no idea— I— I didn’t know—" Katniss rambles frantically, beginning to unravel at the seams.

_‘Calm down, it’s going to be okay.’_ I assure her, squeezing her hand in hopes of alleviating her anxiety.

“KATNISS, PEETA? ARE YOU HERE?” I jump, startled by the slamming of the front door. It is followed by the sound of Mr. Everdeen’s firm but frantic voice as his footsteps pound against the stairs. Less than a moment later the door swings open, revealing a rather disheveled looking Dylan.

_‘You mean how he keeps jerking his head to the side like he’s heard something?’_ Katniss asks me while Snow’s attention is focused on the person standing in the doorway.

_‘Yes.’_ I tell her, thankful for the interruption from her father.

“Oh, hey guys, I didn’t know you had—” Dylan pauses when he catches sight of the guest in my home, “—company.” He finishes, tipping his head in a polite gesture to President Snow. “President Snow, what a surprise.” He says, and I commend him on refraining from using Katniss’ greeting to the sinister man.

“Good to finally meet you Mr. Everdeen; we will not be much longer, if you don’t mind.” President Snow admonishes, dismissing Katniss’ father.

“Sure, um . . . can I get you some tea, or perhaps a bite to eat?”

“That would be lovely, what a thoughtful gesture.” President Snow chimes and then Dylan is out the door. Within seconds I hear the tell-tale sounds of dishes banging around in the kitchen as he searches for something to whip up for our dear president. I’m sure it is just his excuse to remain near us, and I am instantly grateful for his presence.

There is an uncomfortable silence for what feels like ages before President Snow speaks. “Where was I? Oh, right, right. Of course, you wouldn’t know the goings on in the other districts, as I would not expect you to, but nonetheless, the two of you seem to have caused quite a ruckus.” There is a pregnant pause for a fraction of a moment as he seems to ruminate something over in his mind before his eyes land on me.

“And you, Mister Mellark; you are _quite_ the storyteller. Tell me, was that story of yours a true story? Please tell me, I _must_ know.” He implores, seeming genuinely intrigued. This time I know he is referring to the stories from the cave. The ones detailing the birth of mine and Katniss’ friendship and the consequences of my actions.

“It was.” I admit sheepishly, adhering to our vow of maintaining honesty.

“You have quite a way with words, if I do say so myself.”

“Please don’t kill Peeta, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll stay away from him, I’ll do anything, just please—”

‘ _Katniss! No.’_ I mouth to her; what in the world is she thinking?

There is a light tapping on the door followed by Dylan entering the room. He carries a tray containing three cups, a kettle of tea, cream, sugar, spoons, and an assortment of day-old frosted sugar cookies. I am a little surprised at how quickly he managed to get everything prepared until I remember there was already a kettle of water simmering on the stove from this morning. And the cookies; they were sitting on the counter from last night.

“Where would you like it?” Dylan smiles at Snow, playing his role of clueless father with impeccable precision.

“Right here is fine.” Snow gestures to a spot on the desk, sliding some papers over to make room. I find myself frowning again, wondering where this desk came from and when he would have had time to have someone come in here and remodel my art studio. 

“What a welcome sight. You know, it’s funny how often people forget that president’s need to eat, too.” President Snow gives Dylan a charming smile. “Thank you kindly, we won’t be much longer here.” He finishes, clearly informing Katniss’ father that his presence here is unwelcome. I am not oblivious to the worried glance Dylan tosses our way as he walks past me and Katniss to make his exit. I try my best to send him an inconspicuous and reassuring nod as President Snow proceeds to fill the cups with tea.

“Sugar, cream?” He asks once Dylan has clicked the door shut behind him. He slides the cups over to our side of the desk and plops a few sugar cubes into his own cup, stirring it around before splashing in a dash of cream.

“No thanks.” I tell him, reaching for my cup and holding it in my hands, enjoying the warmth for a moment. And then I sit my cup down and look into his beady eyes, “You won’t kill us, there are too many people watching.” I challenge him, knowing it is a very dangerous game we are playing.

There is a pregnant pause before he begins, followed by a slight nod of his head. “You’re right; you two are quite the item as of now, but don’t worry, I have no intention whatsoever in harming a single hair on either of your heads. In fact, I came here today seeking your help. You see, what I want is for you to prove your love is true. It seems in the other districts, they do not quite believe your ah, ‘love story’.”

“It’s not a ‘ _story’_ , it’s real. Peeta and I really do love each other.” Katniss growls defensively, her voice rising an octave as she glares daggers at the old man.

“What is it that you want from us?” I ask him, ready for him to get to the point. For the briefest of moments, for merely a fraction of a second he looks hurt. If I wasn’t intently boring my eyes into him, I would have missed it.

“I’m so glad you mentioned it!” He says jubilantly, quickly eradicating the pained expression and clasping his hand together as if we are the best of friends. He reaches for a snow-white handkerchief in his breast pocket, which looks as genetically altered as the white rose he wears in his lapel and dabs it to his mouth. When he lowers the white cloth from his lips, I can’t help but notice there are a few drops of blood staining the napkin and I wonder what happened. “I came here today with a proposition for you; for the two of you.” He says, glancing down to the platter of cookies. “These are lovely, did your father bake these?” He inquires, catching Katniss’ eyes.

“No, I did.”

“Oh, right, yes. You are an artist, and your family owns the local bakery.”

“What is it, we’ll . . . I’ll do anything, just please don’t hurt Peeta or my family.” Katniss begs, going slightly off kilter.

_‘Katniss, stop it, you don’t make deals with the devil.’_ I chastise her for being so eager to strike a deal with him. _‘No matter what promises he makes, we cannot trust him to keep his word.’_ I beseech to her, knowing Snow’s tactics is nothing but manipulation.

“I want you to go on tour and prove your love to this boy and prove to the nation that your actions in the arena were not done against the Capitol, but for _him.”_ He informs her, the mood in the tone of his voice taking a dark turn. And then he briefly glances over to me for a moment before planting his snake eyes back on Katniss.

“You have a choice Mr. Mellark.” He begins, his eyes still trained on Katniss. “You may continue to stir up trouble while on the Victory Tour with your . . . acts of compassion and selflessness, or you and Miss Everdeen can play nice for the cameras, come home and never worry about the Capitol again.” He begins, causing me to cringe at the mention of Katniss’ name; sending an overwhelming urge to protect what is mine to soar through me. “You’ll never have to be a mentor, never have to leave this Godforsaken district you two seem to love so much. Both your families will never have to worry about a thing. You can live . . . happily ever after.” He alleges, boring his beady eyes into mine.

“Why?” I ask, bewildered by his offer and refusing to be intimidated by him.

_What could he possibly gain from this proposition? What am I missing?_ I ask myself, trying to figure out his game plan.

“Perhaps I have been mistaken in believing you to be a smart boy; can you not figure it out?”

Internally squirming in my seat for a moment, I ruminate over his words and then it hits me like a ton of bricks. “You want us to calm the districts— to distract them from thinking about our . . . what did you call them? Oh right, “rebellious acts”. You’re afraid people will follow our lead and stand up to you. But won’t it look suspicious if “The Love-Struck Fools” don’t return to the Capitol in their first year of mentoring, during a quell no less?”

“Oh, they’ll ask, but won’t I look like a sympathetic president when I allow the two of you to live your lives in peace? Think about it Mr. Mellark, you could marry this girl—” He says, motioning with his eyes to Katniss and then his eyes are back on me. “—have children—”

“You mean only to watch them get reaped!” Katniss dangerously accuses him, taking a deep breath after realizing her voice has risen to a menacing level. We are walking on dangerous territory, and I must admit, I am frightened.

“I could arrange it so they will never see the inside of an arena. You can live your lives in peace. I will even turn a blind eye to Miss Everdeen and her cousin frequenting the illegal woods. Wouldn’t that please you, Mr. Mellark? A guarantee that everyone you love could be free of the games.”

“ _Everyone_ I love?” I contest, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if that sweet little girl, what’s her name; what is your sister's name again? Primrose, right? Yes, what a shame it would be for Primrose Everdeen’s name to be chosen two years in a row, what rotten luck! I am not privy to what the gamemaker’s had in mind for this year’s quell, but I can only imagine that one of the Games has the potential to reap its tributes from the families of victor’s.”

At the mention of Prim’s name, a sudden heat surges through me; an indignation I have never felt before. But then . . . there it is; the threat I have been waiting for, the missing piece of the puzzle. He must know how much Prim means to both Katniss and I and knows that he can manipulate us to his will in order to spare her life.

“How do I know you won’t go back on your promise?”

“You have my word Mr. Mellark, and a president is only as good as his word.”

“Nope, not good enough. **_IF_** I agree to this, and I say “if” lightly. I will want it made official somehow, a public acknowledgement that my whole family, Katniss’ entire family, including all of her cousins will be free of any and all future reapings. And . . . and our children, if we were to ever have any, and our family’s children. Our stylists, prep teams, Effie, Haymitch . . . hands off _everyone_.”

At my demand, the president’s face twists into an indignant scowl, most likely astounded by the audacity of my demands. “You are too smart for your own good, Mr. Mellark. Anyone else would have jumped at the offer the moment I uttered the words—”

“Well, I am not anyone else. Take it or leave it, the choice is yours.”

“It seems there is no choice to be had. Suit yourself. If you and Miss Everdeen keep the people focused on you and your . . . _love_ ,—"he spits the word out as if it is a disease he could contract. “— and away from your ah . . . acts of rebellion, then yes, we have a deal.” President Snow extends his hand to confirm our deal. I stare at it for a second, almost afraid that if I touch it, it will do something, like bite me. Against my better judgement I hesitantly accept it, ready to rid him from my home.

“I’m not—" I begin, but Katniss’ voice overpowers me.

“I’ll— we’ll do it.” Katniss interjects, squeezing my hand firmly. “We’ll convince the districts that we’re in love, that we never intended to defy the Capitol.” She blurts out. 

Narrowing my eyes, I look at her with a frown. But then I notice her erect posture and she looks more confident than she has the entire time we have been sitting with this evil man. She looks almost . . . giddy and it worries me.

“Aim higher.” He challenges.

“What do you mean?” Katniss asks, giving him a befuddled glare.

“I want you to convince _me_.”

“Okay, I will, we will. We love each other, we really do. Just please . . . please don’t hurt them.”

President Snow nods, standing up to leave and walks to the door. Except when he meets the door, he quickly turns around to face us once more. “Oh—” His voice causes us to turn around in our chairs to face him, “— and I hope that new leg is treating you well. You should make an appointment in the Capitol to have it checked out before your return home.” He finishes, implying that he knows something I do not. And then just like that, he vanishes out the door.

Still connected by our hands, Katniss and I turn back around to face the chair Snow previously occupied, only to discover that the room seems to have magically and mysteriously transformed to its previous disposition. Gone is the desk and chair, replaced by large boxes of art supplies. Katniss and I jump up from our seats to see that our once fancy high back chairs have converted into a near three-foot-tall stack of books.

* * *

**| President Snow |**

The electric window separating my compartment from my driver, Ryuzaki’s compartment slowly begins to lower until it stops at the halfway point. Ryuzaki clears his throat as he prepares to speak.

“We have arrived, sir.” His voice echoes throughout the car. Irritated by his comment, I shake my head; as if the car coming to a complete stop in the driveway was not my first clue.

“Damn idiot.” I murmur under my breath and the clueless Ryuzaki lights up in a dazzling smile, only adding to my irritation.

“So, this is Victor’s Village.” I jabber to myself, intrigued that not much has changed since I was last here. 

The idiot Ryuzaki is, confirms my statement. “Yes sir, this is the residence of Victor, Peeta Mellark.”

_No shit Sherlock, this is where I asked you to take me;_ is what I want to say to him, but I hold my tongue.

“What a dump.” I ramble under my breath as Ryuzaki climbs out of the driver’s seat and circles the car to open my door. I accept his hand as I step out of the car and look around the dilapidated village, scoffing to myself. So much has changed since I left this ghastly place, yet, so much is the same. Once my _experiment_ , (as Dr. Ghaul referred to it as) in Twelve reached its completion and I relished in my Capitol life, I never gave this place a second thought.

_Or her._ I think to myself.

_‘Now, that isn’t true Coriolanus, and you know it.’_ Her voice echoes in my head.

Scoffing to rid her pestilent voice from my head, I make my way to the front door of Peeta Mellark’s home, knowing that Ryuzaki will not abandon me in these backwoods of a hellhole, and will most likely take a nap. I retrieve the set of master keys from my pocket, fumbling until I come across the correct one. Once I find the magical one that unlocks the door, I take it upon myself to enter.

The moment I step inside, I am inundated by the most heavenly of aromas, reminding me for a moment of the grandma’am. It smells of freshly baked bread and a mixture of cookies, causing me for a moment to forget the purpose of my visit. “Focus Corio.” I urge myself to stay on track as I walk around the main floor.

After glancing through the main level of Peeta Mellark’s living space, I grimace and shake my head. “No, this will not do.” I admonish, noticing how warm and inviting he has turned his home into. No, I need them uncomfortable, anxious, and on edge. They must be reminded of the Capitol; of their place.

I make my way up the spiral staircase, chuckling at how every single victor’s home is a replica of the other. Once I reach the second level of the house that contains all the bedrooms, one particular door stands out amongst all the others. Out of the four doors, each one is wide open, save one. That is the door that intrigues me, so I reach for the knob and twist it open.

Once again, Peeta Mellark has bedazzled me without even knowing it; without him even being present. I am taken aback by the vivid and immaculate works of art displayed throughout the room that depict the seventy-fourth hunger games to a tee. It is perfection. Yes, this will do nicely. Reaching into my inside coat pocket I retrieve my cellular device and dial the number for the Head Gamemaker.

“Plutarch Heavensbee.” Plutarch’s gleeful voice answers on the second ring. For the love of Panem, why is everyone so cheerful today?

“Plutarch—”

“Ah, President Snow, what can I do for you on this lovely day?” For some reason, his cheerful and perky demeanor angers me.

“Well, since you mentioned it . . .” I begin, going on to inform him of my needs. Almost instantly, the rooms transforms to accommodate my needs as Plutarch guides me as to where to place the boxes of books and supplies. Now, in the far corner of the room there appears to be a desk and three chairs. One situated at the head of the desk for myself, and two others on the opposite side. For Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen if she so happens to be with him. From what I gathered in all the footage I watched of District Twelve, the two seem to be inseparable; meaning she will almost certainly accompany the boy.

“Is everything to your liking, sir?” Plutarch inquires, eager to please me, which brings me a certain amount of pleasure as I think about Crane’s betrayal.

Seneca Crane; he could have aspired to be something amazing. I cannot believe how he fooled me so. I am not certain of this, but I have this feeling that allowing these two degenerates to survive the games was only the beginning of some master plan of his. Well, at least I nicked that in the bud before it came to fruition.

“It is perfect. Thank you, Plutarch.”

I end the call, unsure of how to make use of my free time as well as not knowing when the boy will return home. Surely, it cannot be much longer since his stylist and prep team is due to arrive in just a few hours. 

I notice the canvases lining the wall and my mouth contorts into a rictus of displeasure. Biding my time, I walk to the far side of the wall and decide to see what all the fuss is about regarding the boy’s talent. Rumor has it that it is his ability to replicate memories via artwork.

After glancing at the first painting for only a moment, I am instantly hypnotized. His talent was not exaggerated, the boy is rather gifted; these paintings are astounding. I marvel over the intricate details in which he has replicated little pieces of his games onto each canvas, depicting what appears to be each of his hours in the Games with such immaculate precision. I am bewildered by the accuracy the images portray of the arena.

The “timeline” portion of his paintings causes me to have an “AHA” moment; an idea for the Quell, compelling me to pull my notepad out and jot it down. I must share this with Plutarch and see what he can do with it. Yes indeed, I already have a master plan for the Quell this year, a way to kill two birds with one stone, figuratively speaking.

_‘It would have been such a shame had he eaten those berries Coriolanus; all that talent, just gone.’_

“Shut up; go away.” I snarl, ignoring her unwanted commentary and move on to the next painting. It seems no matter what the boy paints, the main subject in each canvas is _her._ Katniss Everdeen. Without fail, she is present in _every_ single one. I cannot deny how beautiful; how stunning she is in each and every portrait. Even covered in grime, their bodies caked in mud and filth, he somehow found a way to pull out her beauty.

_‘As long as you can find katniss, you will never starve. Do you remember that day Coriolanus? I wonder if that’s how the people in the district’s feel; that Katniss is feeding them . . . hope. Soon, their bellies will be full and—'_

“Shut up Lucy Gray! I didn’t ask you.” I bark at her, irritated that she refuses to leave me be.

_‘It’s not over till the mockingjay sings! Katniss is the mockingjay and she is feeding the districts with her melody of hope!’_ Lucy Gray’s voice trills in my head. Ever since I saw that damn pin on Katniss Everdeen, Lucy Gray has haunted my every thought. Whether I am awake or asleep, she is always there. The girl on fire is a constant reminder of _her_ at every twist and turn. And now . . . here I am, in District Twelve where the ghost of the only girl I ever loved is . . . everywhere.

“Dammit Lucy Gray, I will kill all of your filthy mockingjay’s.” My threat only causes a shrill giggle to course through my head.

_‘Keep trying Coriolanus.’_ She challenges me; damn her.

Distracted by Lucy Gray’s antics, I am oblivious to the actual people who have entered the room.

“Aghhem . . . Excuse me, can I help you?” I take a moment to gather my composure as the boy clears his throat, offering his assistance. I slowly turn around to face him and a bright smile appears on my face when I see the girl next to him. How predictable.

“These are quite remarkable.” I tell Peeta Mellark, gesturing to the painting behind me. It may even classify as my favorite. I wonder if those squirrels haunt their dreams and I would bet my life that Katniss Everdeen now fears the woods she once loved so much as I think about the abundance of squirrels in the forest of Twelve.

However, my eyes land on another painting as they make their way to the _victors_ in front of me. The love-struck fools are perched high in a tree just above their District Eleven _allies._ If I could kill them right now I would; for the mockery they have made of my precious games with all their _friendship, love_ and _alliances._ Their actions are a disgrace to Panem, and I’d no sooner have them executed for all the nation to see if my citizens were not so taken with the duo.

Something more attractive will come along and push them out of the spotlight. I will be lurking in the shadows, awaiting that day; the day I can eradicate Panem of these two brats.

“President Snow, what an honor, what—”

Foreseeing what she intends to say, I decide to skip ahead and get to the point. “I think we’ll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other. What do you think?” 

“Yes, I think that would save time.” So, this frail girl who needs a boy by her side is who the districts are looking to? Ha! And here I thought she actually posed a threat. I can break her, I am certain of it.

I avert my attention back to the wall covered with the paintings, offering an approving nod here and there before returning my eyes back to Peeta Mellark. “I heard you were talented Mr. Mellark, but I just _had_ to see it for myself. I would never believe that someone from as lowly a district as Twelve could produce such . . . works of art.” I begin, walking to the far corner of the room, pulling the chair from the desk and sit down. Once I am seated, I notice the questioning glances they share pertaining to the desk and chairs.

“Please, why don’t you have a seat?” I offer, keeping my voice pleasant and motioning for them to sit in what Plutarch has made to look like a pair of sophisticated high back chairs on the opposite side of the desk. I must remember to commend him on his ability to distort reality.

“President Snow, my paintings will be on display in the Capitol in just a few weeks, so I know you didn’t come all the way out here just to see them. Why don’t we forgo the pleasantries, and you can tell us why you have chosen to grace us with your presence?” The boy sits brave and tall, confidently meeting my gaze. Who does this brat believe himself to be, speaking to me in such a manner? Could it be possible that he is not the insecure little twit I previously accredited him to be. Perhaps _he_ is the problem and not Katniss Everdeen.

“My advisors recommended I steer clear of you both, that you would be ah . . . difficult, but you are not planning to be difficult, are you Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark?”

“No.” As if rehearsed, they reply in unison.

“I didn’t think so. Anyone that would go to such great lengths to preserve their life and the life of their true love would never be interested in throwing it all away with both hands. Then, there are your families to consider; your mother, father, brother’s, and a sister to think about; not to mention all those . . . _cousins_.” I avert my eyes to Katniss Everdeen, making sure to convey my awareness of her relationship to the Hawthorne family; or should I say lack thereof. “And you Mr. Mellark, I hear your father is rather well liked around here, and not one, but _two_ brothers. Yes, a lot of family indeed. What a _privilege_ to have such an abundance of family, what a privilege indeed.” _A privilege that can just as easily be eradicated_. I think to myself.

“What brings you all the way to Twelve and so far from the Capitol President Snow?” Peeta Mellark demands, emanating a confidence I would have never thought him to possess.

Resting my chin atop my touching fingertips, I ignore Peeta Mellark’s question and divert my attention to Katniss Everdeen. “Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice, Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire. You have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow into an inferno that destroys all of Panem. _We_ have a problem Miss Everdeen,—” I put emphasis on the word ‘we’, informing the girl that my problem is now her burden to bare. “—a problem that began the moment you volunteered for your sister. A problem that only escalated when you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena.” I pause for just a moment, lowering my hands with a smile on my face, “If the Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane had any sense, he would’ve blown you both to bits right then and there. Unfortunately, he had a . . . sentimental streak, so here you are. Tell me Katniss, can you guess where he is?”

She sits tall, taking a deep breath before she speaks. “I can only assume he had to answer for his actions.”

She catches me off guard, so I smile and turn to the boy by her side, hiding my disgust at the sight of their linked fingers. “And you, Peeta Mellark. You caused a lot of problems for me in that arena; declaring your love for a fellow tribute on national television, expressing remorse after a kill, your alliance with that little girl, and all of your . . . _storytelling_.” I shudder at the memory of their alliance, finding it more than despicable.

“What can I say, I have an active imagination.” Peeta Mellark admonishes nonchalantly.

“Yes, I suppose you do. And you, Miss Everdeen; performing death rights for an opposing tribute and then supplying him with your district token. Yes, I must say that caused quite a . . . well, never you mind. What was I to do, but allow the two of you to play out your romance for the Capitol, the nation if you will. However, your little stunt in the arena has caused quite a mood change in the districts.”

“Mood change?” Peeta Mellark retorts.

“You see Miss Everdeen, Mister Mellark, if one of their own can defy the Capitol and walk away unscathed, what’s to stop them from doing the same? What’s to prevent, say, an uprising in your hometown, or perhaps in another district?”

_‘Told you so Coriolanus. The show’s not over—'_ Snapping my head to the side in hopes of ridding Lucy Gray’s voice from my head, I stop myself before I do something I will regret; like telling her to shut up in front of the victor’s.

“Uprisings? We haven’t had any uprisings . . . have there been . . . uprising . . . in the other districts?” Katniss Everdeen questions me curiously, an almost excited gleam in her eyes.

“No, not as of yet, but they will follow if the course of things doesn’t change. Uprisings have been known to lead to revolution. Do you have any idea what that would lead to? How many deaths _you_ would be responsible for? Believe me when I say this, I do _not_ want that on your conscience. Whatever problems people have with the Capitol, you can be certain when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short period of time, the entire system would collapse.” 

_‘Oooh, uprisings. This could get very interesting Coriolanus. What do you intend to do about it?’_ I massage a spot on my forehead in the hopes it will eradicate Lucy Gray’s voice from my head. _Dammit, why won’t she leave me alone?_

“It must be very fragile, if all it takes is a handful of berries to bring it down.” Katniss Everdeen replies gracefully. Who the hell does this girl think she is!?

_‘You should check the weather when you return home, I believe they are forecasting cloudy with a chance of a permanent SNOW FALLING.’_ Lucy Gray chuckles as if she has made the most hilarious of jokes, forcing my head to snap to the side again.

Ignoring Lucy Gray’s commentary, I focus my attention on the two problems in front of me. “It is fragile, but not in the way you suppose.” I reply, taking a deep, subtle breath, inhaling the redolence from my rose. It is imperative they not see how they are getting to me.

_‘Snow is falling, Snow is falling, down, down, down. And then one day, he will be gone . . . FOREVER!’_ Lucy Gray trills in a sing-song voice, cheering at the end.

“I didn’t mean to start any uprisings, it was never my intention. I just wanted for me and Peeta to go home and to get back to my sister. The gamemakers said— they changed the rule, and . . . I had no idea— I— I didn’t know—" The girl’s pleas come out frantically. The corners of my lips curve up thinking I am beginning to chip away at her armor. Now, for the boy.

“KATNISS, PEETA? ARE YOU HERE?” A voice booms from downstairs. I hear the sound of feet clobbering up the steps, followed by the door rushing open.

“Oh, hey guys, I didn’t know you had— company.” I presume this rude man who just barged in on our private meeting belongs to Katniss Everdeen. It must be her father judging by his olive complexion, not to mention the identical grey eyes. She is a replica of him, in feminine form. 

Sir Everdeen nods his head to greet me, “President Snow, what a surprise.” He says, and I tip my head back to him with a smile.

“Good to finally meet you Mr. Everdeen; we will not be much longer, if you don’t mind.” I inform him, letting him know I require privacy with the victor’s.

“Sure, um . . . can I get you some tea, or perhaps a bite to eat?”

“That would be lovely, what a thoughtful gesture.” Sir Everdeen bolts out the door, making himself useful in the kitchen. I stroke the hair on my chin, trying to remember where we were. 

“Where was I? Oh, right, right. Of course, you wouldn’t know the goings on in the other districts, as I would not expect you to; but nonetheless, the two of you seem to have caused quite a ruckus. And you, Mister Mellark, you are _quite_ the storyteller. Tell me, was that story of yours a true story? Please tell me, I _must_ know.”

“It was.” He admits shamefully.

“You have quite a way with words, if I do say so myself.”

“Please don’t kill Peeta, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll stay away from him, I’ll do anything, just please—” Yes, I am definitely breaking the girl and inwardly smile at her pleas to preserve her love’s life.

Sir Everdeen taps on the door to alert us of his presence before entering the room. He carries with him, a serving tray with a carafe of hot tea, three small teacups, three spoons, a small container of sugar cubes, and a miniature carafe filled with what I can only assume to be cream. On a separate platter there is an assortment of beautifully and intricately designed frosted sugar cookies. My, do those cookies look delicious.

_‘Do you remember bringing me food? When I was in the zoo?’ You were once a kind man, Coriolanus.’_

“Where would you like it?” Sir Everdeen asks, looking confusedly at the desk in front of me. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when the room transforms back to its original state. I must speak to my right hand man, Bickerdyke about installing surveillance in this home, since the listening device in Peeta Mellark’s prosthetic leg seems to no longer function.

“Right here is fine.” I motion to the spot in front of me, pretending to shovel some papers to the side. Again, I smile at Plutarch’s brilliance and detail of such simple things. “What a welcome sight. You know, it’s funny how often people forget that president’s need to eat, too.” I give Sir Everdeen a tight smile. “Thank you kindly, we won’t be much longer here.” I tell him once he sets the tray down. Reaching for the tea carafe, I hold on to the lid and proceed to fill each cup slightly over halfway before looking at the _children._

“Sugar, cream?” I wait for the auditory signal that Sir Everdeen has made his exit, dropping a few sugar cubes into my tea, giving it a little stir. Once all the grains of sweetness have disintegrated into the hot tea, I add a splash of cream.

“No thanks.” Peeta Mellark politely declines, and then suddenly is glaring daggers at me. “You won’t kill us, there are too many people watching.”

_Is that so?_ I think to myself but refrain from speaking the words aloud. One musn’t keep all their eggs in one basket. “You’re right; you two are quite the item as of now, but don’t worry, I have no intention whatsoever in harming a single hair on either of your heads. In fact, I came here today for your help. You see, what I want is for you to prove your love is true. It seems in the other districts, they do not quite believe your ah, ‘love story’.”

“It’s not a ‘ _story’_ , it’s real. Peeta and I really do love each other.” Oversensitively, Katniss Everdeen states her case with a heated ferocity in her eyes. What a stupid girl, to love a boy this much. To give your heart to another; what an insane notion.

_‘You only think that because NO ONE loves YOU.’_ Dammit Lucy Gray. Shut. Up.

“What is it that you want from us?” Peeta Mellark inquires.

“I’m so glad you mentioned it!” I keep my voice cheerful, clasping my hands together for a moment before plucking my handkerchief from my breast pocket and dab the remnants of the tea from my lips. “I came here today with a proposition for you; for the two of you.” I begin, and then the tray of cookies catches my attention. “These are lovely, did your father bake these?” I avert my question to Miss Everdeen, knowing full well these are Peeta Mellark’s creations.

“No, I did.” He confirms.

“Oh, right, yes. You are an artist, and your family owns the local bakery.” I made certain to do my research on both their families before taking this trip.

“What is it, we’ll . . . I’ll do anything, just please don’t hurt Peeta or my family.” Katniss Everdeen must learn to control her face, her emotions are giving her away, leaving nothing to be desired. Doesn’t she know boys like girls they cannot figure out?

“I want you to go on tour and prove your love to this boy and prove to the nation that your actions in the arena were not done against the Capitol, but for _him.”_ I state bluntly, throwing my demands on the table. Quickly, I avert my gaze next to Miss Everdeen.

“You have a choice, Mr. Mellark. You may continue stirring up trouble while on the Victory Tour with your . . . acts of compassion and selflessness, or you and Miss Everdeen can play nice for the cameras, come home and never worry about the Capitol again. You’ll never have to be a mentor, never have to leave this Godforsaken district you two seem to love so much. Both your families will never have to exasperate about a thing. You can live . . . happily ever after.” I finish, disconcertingly averting my gaze to the boy.

“Why?” Peeta Mellark doubts my offer, supplying me with a befuddled scowl.

I return to my previous, nonchalant, and chipper tone, “Perhaps I have been mistaken in believing you to be a smart boy; can you not figure it out?”

It does not take him long to put the pieces together; he is a smart boy after all. “You want us to calm the districts— to distract them from thinking about our . . . what did you call them? Oh right, “rebellious acts”. You’re afraid people will follow our lead and stand up to you. But won’t it look suspicious if “The Love-Struck Fools” don’t return to the Capitol in their first year of mentoring, during a quell no less?”

“Oh, they’ll ask, but won’t I look like a sympathetic president when I allow the two of you to live your lives in peace? Think about it Mr. Mellark, you could marry this girl, have children—”

“You mean only to watch them get reaped!” Inwardly, I chuckle. Ha! Is Katniss Everdeen accusing _me_ of finagling the reaping to achieve a desired outcome?

“I could arrange it so they will never see the inside of an arena. You can live your lives in peace. I will even turn a blind eye to Miss Everdeen and her cousin frequenting the illegal woods. Wouldn’t that please you, Mr. Mellark? A guarantee that everyone you love could be free of the games.”

“ _Everyone_ I love?” His curiosity is piqued.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if that sweet little girl, what’s her name; what is your sister's name again? Primrose, right? Yes, what a shame it would be for Primrose Everdeen’s name to be chosen two years in a row, what rotten luck! I am not privy to what the gamemaker’s had in mind for this year’s quell, but I can only imagine that one of the Games has the potential to reap its tributes from the families of victor’s.”

Both their eyes fill with a sudden rage at the mention of the sister’s name. If looks could kill I would surely be dead in this moment.

“How do I know you won’t go back on your promise?”

“You have my word Mr. Mellark, and a president is only as good as his word.”

“Nope, not good enough. **_IF_** I agree to this, and I say “if” in the lightest way possible; I will want it made official somehow. A public acknowledgement that my whole family, Katniss’ entire family, including all of her cousins will be free of any and all future reapings. And . . . and our children, if we were to ever have any, and our family’s children. Our stylists, prep teams, Effie, Haymitch . . . hands off _everyone_.”

_‘What a clever boy Coriolanus, I think he just beat you at your own game!’_ Lucy Gray continues with her incessant taunting, and I am sure the victor’s before me believe my contorted face to be of their doing. Which is fine, I prefer it over the latter.

I quickly regain my composure and respond to his demands. “You are too smart for your own good, Mr. Mellark. Anyone else would have jumped at the offer the moment I uttered the words—”

“Well, I am not anyone else. Take it or leave it, the choice is yours.”

“It seems there is no choice to be had. Suit yourself. If you and Miss Everdeen keep the people focused on you and your . . . love, and away from your ah, acts of rebellion, then yes, we have a deal.” I extend my hand across the illusionary desk and a moment later, however reluctant he is, Peeta Mellark finally accepts it.

“I’m not—" He begins, but Katniss Everdeen beats him to the punch.

“I’ll— we’ll do it. We’ll convince the districts that we’re in love, that we never intended to defy the Capitol.” The girl agrees confidently, almost excited; as if she has a plan of her own.

_‘I like them Coriolanus. Oh yes, I like them a lot. I foresee these two aspiring to do great things. Oh, yes, yes, yes.’ Lucy Gray’s voice warbles melodically._

“Aim higher.” I decree, standing up from my seat.

“What do you mean?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I want you to convince _me_.” This should keep them busy for a while. Anyone with even one functioning eye can tell these two are hopelessly in love with each other. Sickeningly so.

“Okay, I will; we will. We love each other, we really do. Just please . . . don’t hurt them.” _She must really work on her acting skills,_ I think, inwardly smirking at how delicate her puppet strings are, making her easy to manipulate.

Stepping back from the make-shift chair, I pretend to slide it under the desk and make my way from this deplorable room. As I walk past another painting, the twister catches my eye and it somehow brings me pleasure, knowing they are constantly reminded of their games. Stopping myself at the threshold, a thought pops into my head.

“Oh, and I hope that new leg is treating you well. You should make an appointment in the Capitol to have it checked out before your return home.” Are the parting words I leave them with and then make my way down the steps and out the door, and finally, to my car where Ryuzaki is patiently waiting.

“To the loading docks, sir?” He asks me.

“Yes, get me the hell out of this place.” I grumble. He puts the car in gear, and we make our way out of here. I am staring out of the side window when I see the standardized mayor’s mansion. “Wait. Turn around, I wish to make one more stop before returning home.”

* * *

**| Dylan |**

“Hey babe, hey Primmie.” I greet my girls when I walk into the house; planting a kiss on Lilly’s lips, and another one to the top of Primrose’s head. “Have you guys seen the kids, I figured they’d be back by now.” I ask, scanning the main room once more in case I missed them the first time.

“Katniss left early this morning to go “out” with Peeta.” Prim says, fluttering her lashes and puckering her face up.

I frown at Primrose’s assessment because I already knew this bit of information. Peeta informed me that he would be whisking Katniss away to the meadow for the morning . . . for some time to themselves before their prep teams arrive. A calm, relaxing start to their day before their journey on the tour.

With concern written all over my face, I turn my head to Lilly, hoping she has some answers. She meets my eyes, motioning for me to follow her to the kitchen. 

Thankfully, Primrose is engrossed in a book Cinna sent her about different types of stitches. Even though I am on edge as to the whereabouts of Katniss and Peeta, I cannot help but smirk. My twelve-year-old daughter prefers to read books about surgery, healing and medical terminology. Go figure. Not only that; I see she has a bowl of assorted fruit next to her, as well as Lilly’s suture kit, trying out some of the stitches for herself.

Lilly makes her way to the kitchen sink and runs the water, filling the left side of the sink with water to soak the dishes. Inconspicuously, I creep in behind her and wrap my hands around her waist, scooting my mouth near her ear. If Primrose happens to look up from her book of medical jargon, it will appear as if we are “cuddling” as she likes to call it; but Lilly knows. She always knows when I’m scared.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers, plopping the dirty dishes into the soapy water.

“I’m worried about the kids. Haymitch said they left his house nearly an hour ago; they should have been back by now.”

“Maybe they went back to Peeta’s.” Lilly offers, shrugging her shoulders.

“Both of them? No— I don’t think . . . Katniss knows her team is arriving soon and she promised she wouldn’t leave us alone with them.” I counter her explanation with doubt all over my face.

“Why don’t you walk over there and see what the holdup is?”

“Good idea.” I brighten with her suggestion, wondering why I didn’t think of that. I give her a quick kiss on her cheek and make my way to the foyer to find my shoes. As annoying as I find house rule number one, at the same time I am thankful for it. If not for Lilly’s obsessive germaphobic tendencies, she would not demand that we remove our shoes in the foyer, which also means I would spend hours of my life wasting time looking for my shoes.

“Oh, and honey?”

“Yeah babe?”

“If you happen to find them . . . um . . .” She begins, blushing as her sentence trails off.

“I know, I know.” I finish, waving her off. I remember the last time I caught my daughter wrapped in Peeta’s arms, straddling his lap on the couch as they sucked face, I nearly had a coronary. Luckily for Peeta they were both fully clothed.

Once my shoes are on, I grab my coat and head out the door. As I begin the walk two houses over, I see a sleek black car parked just outside of Peeta’s home. As I get closer, I do a double take when I notice there is a man sitting in the driver’s seat, his nose in a book. It is definitely not either of their prep teams, and something tells me this visitor is unwanted and unwelcome. My heart drops into my stomach at the thought of who it could be and I high tail it to the front door.

The door isn’t even locked which only causes my panic to escalate. “KATNISS, PEETA? ARE YOU HERE?” I yell out to them once I am inside, briefly scanning the lower level of the house. Seeing no trace of either of my kids, I pummel up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I glance down the hallway and head for the one door that is closed. On any other day it wouldn’t rouse my suspicions, but today is not any other day. My gut is pulling me toward this room like opposite magnets.

My heart returns to normal when I swing the door open and my eyes land on them, knowing they are safe and sound. They are sitting side by side in a pair of unfamiliar chairs, looking straight ahead. “Oh, hey guys, I didn’t know you had—” I pause when I turn my head to see who they are talking to, catching sight of their visitor. “— company.” I complete my sentence when I see their _guest._ It is none other than the infamous President Snow. The murderer of the mayor and his wife, my friends.

Quickly, I paint an image of indifference on my face and give the evil man a charming smile, as if nothing is amiss. And then I give him a slight nod of my head in greeting.

“President Snow, what a surprise.” It’s not a lie, I _am_ more than surprised. But not the good kind.

“Good to finally meet you Mr. Everdeen; we will not be much longer, if you don’t mind.” He says casually, clearly dismissing me, judging by the tone of his voice.

Okay, he indisputably does not want me in here, so how can I prove to be useful in order to protect my kids? I take a deep breath, inhaling the succulent aroma of recently baked pastries and my face lights up with an idea. I will make him an offer he simply cannot refuse; especially in this house where the walls seem to emanate the fragrance of cookies and cakes. “Sure, um . . . can I get you some tea, or perhaps a bite to eat?”

“That would be lovely, what a thoughtful gesture.” Grimacing, I nod and rush out the door, making my way back down the stairs and into Peeta’s kitchen. Thankful that we alternate cooking meals between our home and Peeta’s because I am already familiar with the location of all his supplies. Our homes are an exact replica to the other, however, Peeta is rather meticulous when it comes to the placement of his baking supplies and utensils. He’s kind of OCD if you ask me.

_“Everything has a place, and everyplace has a thing.”_ Is the motto Peeta much too often recites to Primrose when she goes to toss something wherever she can find a place. I don’t want to be gone for too long and glance around the kitchen, hoping I won’t have to actually cook anything. Luckily, there is a kettle of water already simmering on the stove, so it won’t take nearly as long for it to reach the boiling point. 

I pull out a carrying tray from one of the cabinets while I wait for the water and set it on the counter. I zip across to the other side of the kitchen where the cupboard is and locate three teacups. And then I fly back to the other side of the room, opening the drawer that houses the silverware and pick out three spoons. I place the three tea cups in a triangle at the center of the tray so they are touching and set the spoons to the side. As I configure everything on the tray, a plate of cookies catches my eye. I search for a platter, piling it high with an assortment of beautifully frosted treats, knowing no one can resist them. 

I zoom back to the cupboard and find the carafe Peeta uses to brew tea and add a few tea bags to it; enough for three cups. As if in perfect synchronicity, the kettle whistles, signaling it is ready. I pour the scalding hot water over the tea bags and ensure everything will all fit on the tray so that nothing will spill. _Too bad I don’t have some poison to put in his tea._ I think, smirking to myself. Almost forgetting the cream, I turn back around and open the fridge, finding a small container and grab it.

Tiptoeing up the steps quiet as a mouse, I close my eyes and try to hear the conversation on the other side of the door.

“I’ll do anything, just please—” It’s my daughter's voice, begging, no pleading for . . . for what? Her life, Peeta’s?

I tap on the door and push it open, not giving them much of a warning before I interrupt them again.

“Where would you like it?” I ask, carrying the tray to the desk the president sits at and frown, wondering where this desk came from. I am certain it wasn’t here before today; I am absolutely certain Peeta hasn’t ordered new furniture, and he certainly wouldn’t for his art studio.

“Right here is fine.” Snow tells me, shoving some papers aside to make room for the tray. “What a welcome sight. You know, it’s funny how often people forget that president’s need to eat too.” He gives me a wicked grin before adding, “Thank you kindly, we won’t be much longer here.” Smiling and nodding, I set the tray down and slowly make my way toward the door, meeting my kid’s eyes before I make my exit. Hoping that I convey the message that I will not be far away.

I stomp down the steps rather loudly, giving the impression that I am giving them privacy, but then silently make my way back up the steps, hovering just outside the door.

Their voices are muffled, but thanks to years of hunting in the woods I am able to make out most of their words. What I cannot understand, I easily fill in the blanks. 

“Won’t kill— too many— watching.” _Oh Peeta, don’t taunt him._ I think to myself. I wouldn’t put it past our president to accept the challenge and show us all exactly what he is truly capable of doing.

“You’re right; you two are quite the item as of now, but don’t worry, I have no intention whatsoever in harming a single hair on either of your heads. In fact, I need your help. You see, what I want is for you to prove your love is true. It seems in the other districts, they do not quite believe your ah, ‘love story’.” Snow’s deep, commanding, and authoritative voice seeps through the door just fine.

“Not— it’s real. Peeta— I— love— other.” Katniss pleads with the man. Even from out here, I can feel her breaking.

“What is it that you want from us?” Peeta asserts.

“I’m so glad you mentioned it! I came here today with a proposition for you; for the two of you.” There is a slight pause and then I hear him say, “These are lovely, did your father bake these?”

There is small talk about Peeta being an artist and his family owning the bakery.

“What is it, we’ll . . . I’ll do— thing, just— Peeta— family.” _Oh, Katniss honey, your desire to protect us is going to get us all killed._ I think to myself after hearing my daughter’s pleas.

Snow’s voice becomes terse, irritated even as he gets to his point.

“I want you to go on tour and prove your love to this boy and prove to the nation that your actions in the arena were not done against the Capitol, but for _him._ You have a choice, Mr. Mellark. You may continue stirring up trouble while on the Victory Tour with your . . . acts of compassion and selflessness, or you and Miss Everdeen can play nice for the cameras, come home and never worry about the Capitol again. You’ll never have to be a mentor, never have to leave this Godforsaken district you two seem to love so much. Both your families will never have to exasperate about a thing. You can live . . . happily ever after.”

“Why?” I can almost see the wheels turning in Peeta’s head as he questions the president uncertainly.

“Perhaps I have been mistaken in believing you to be a smart boy; can you not figure it out?” No longer is Snow’s voice filled with malice, but it is almost . . . jubilant.

I smile when I hear Peeta’s voice reverberate through the door less than five seconds later. “You want us to calm the districts— to distract them from thinking about our . . . what did you call them? Oh right, “rebellious acts”. You’re afraid people will follow our lead and stand up to you. But won’t it look suspicious if “The Love-Struck Fools” don’t return to the Capitol in their first year of mentoring, during a quell no less?”

“Oh, they’ll ask, but won’t I look like a sympathetic president when I allow the two of you to live your lives in peace? Think about it Mr. Mellark, you could marry this girl, have children—”

“You mean only to watch them get reaped!” My daughter’s voice booms firmly through the door. When I close my eyes, I can clearly see the scowl that is most likely etched on her face.

“I could arrange it so they will never see the inside of an arena. You can live your lives in peace, I will even turn a blind eye to Miss Everdeen and her cousin’s frequenting the illegal woods. Wouldn’t that please you, Mr. Mellark? A guarantee that everyone you love could be free of the games.”

I can’t take it anymore; I know these are all lies. Without making a sound, I slip down the stairs and out the back door, knowing that nothing will happen to them. _At least not today._

When I get outside, I want to scream. I want to punch something, kick something. No, not _something_ , but someone. And not kick but—

I shake my head knowing I cannot release my anger; especially not the way I want to and run through the village until I get to town. I begin slowing my pace and taking deep breaths as I make my way to the front door of the mayor’s house. The snow-covered ground and freezing temperatures do nothing to help my overheated body.

She must have been watching through the window because before I have the opportunity to knock, the door swings open and Poppy is pulling me inside.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS—”

“Dangerous? President Snow is currently having a sit-down with my kids—”

“Prim?” Poppy questions, running from window to window, ensuring that no one can see us.

“Katniss and Peeta, sorry.” I tell her, forgetting that she’s new. Sorrow fills her eyes and her shoulders slump over. “You knew?” It’s more of a statement than a question as the words leave my mouth accusingly.

Meeting my eyes apologetically, she nods. “I’m sorry Dylan—”

“Why didn’t you tell me!” I ask her, pointing a finger in her face.

“And what exactly would you have done about it if I told you? NOTHING, because if you did ANYTHING about it, he would know where the source came from and we’d **_all_** be dead!” Her eyes glisten with rage as she lashes out at me. This is why she is the mayor; she doesn’t take crap from anyone. I suppose being the secret daughter of Plutarch Heavensbee has also given her an edge.

“Woah, woah, what’s going on in here?” Raven appears at Poppy’s side, resting his hands on her shoulders to calm her down.

Feeling her husband’s comforting hands must set her at ease because Poppy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, seeming to relax before meeting my eyes again. “Everything is fine honey; Dylan was just leaving.” The look in her eyes tells me not to contest. But she’s right; had she clued me in, I most likely would have done something spontaneous and erratic that would have gotten someone caught, especially if Snow only informed one person of his plans. Which he most likely did.

“I’m sorry Poppy.”

“I know Dylan, I know. Go spend some time with Katniss before they are scheduled to leave. It will be at least two weeks before you see her again.”

I heed her advice and say my goodbyes, making my way home in the snow. The walk home is much colder than it was on my way here.

* * *

**| Madge |**

**“** Madge honey, could you drop these off by the Peterson’s on your way to see Katniss? I would do it, but—” Hazelle asks me as I make my way to the door.

“Don’t be silly, of course I will. I just need to go home and change first.” I tell her, using two fingers to point to my shirt. She looks at me and the corners of her mouth turn up when she sees the state of my clothes. I am covered in a combination of snow and mud from my snowball fight with Vick, Rory and Posie. Gale refused to participate, standing on the sidelines and laughing at us.

“Yes, you definitely need to change. You’ve got plenty of time though, it’s still early.”

“I know, I just wanted to spend some time with Katniss before her prep team steals her away. Once they get there, I won’t be able to get a single word in.”

She places the basket near the door, easy access for me to retrieve it when I return. I make my way across the lawn and to my house with a smile on my face. Gale said he had something special planned for us tonight once everything calmed down; once everyone left. I am both nervous and excited to see what he has in store for us.

When I get to my front door, I notice it is slightly ajar. I never leave it open, alerting me to an intruder in my home. Though I spend most of my time at the Hawthorne’s, I am meticulous about ensuring my house is sealed up tight when I am not there; and even when I am. Not having electric heat, I cannot spare what little warmth I do have to seep into the outside.

I slowly push my door open, almost afraid to find out who my intruder is. I fight the urge to squeeze my eyes shut. When the door is completely open, I see a man dressed in an immaculate tailored suit; the smell of roses and blood filling the air.

“Um, can I help you?” I ask the man. I have seen him on television enough to know who he is. President Snow. The murderer of my parents. My heart begins to accelerate, my breathing becomes erratic; I can feel the blood inside my body simmering with rage as I stare into his snake like eyes. Now I see why Katniss always refers to him as a serpent.

“Ah, Miss Undersee, what a pleasure to finally meet you.” He smiles, extending his hand to me. The moment he speaks, I feel like I am transported back in time from the familiarity of his voice. He **_is_** the sinister, notorious, deleterious and infamous, President Coriolanus Snow.

Apprehensively, I accept his hand. Not because I want to and not because it is the polite thing to do. No, I only accept his hand because I value my life. Out of fear for the lives of the ones I love. My new family, the Hawthorne’s. For Katniss and Peeta and their families.

“Um, hi sir. I mean, President Snow.” I squeak the words, not sure what else to say. What are you supposed to say when you get home to find the president standing in your living room? How did he even get in here? Doesn’t he know it is rude to just . . . enter someone’s home unannounced? And without their knowledge? No wonder this world is gone to crap.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought it rude not to stop by and extend my condolences for the loss of your parents. Your father was a dear acquaintance.” Is it improper etiquette to visit the daughter of the people you killed? To offer your apologies for making said girl an orphan? “What a drastic change to live such a privileged life, and then to be forced into such poverty.” He tsk’s.

“It’s not so bad. Daddy always made sure I had what I needed, but he also taught me how to live off of the necessities. I’m managing.” I say, reminding myself not to give him more than he asks for. I’m sure he could find some way to use it against me.

“Smart man. Yes, I always knew Alaric was a smart man. Speaking of your late father, he so adored you, Marjorie.”

“Madge.” I correct him. My parents were the only ones who called me Marjorie. And yes. Of course, I knew that; they were _MY_ parents; is what I want to tell him, but I just nod.

“My apologies. Yes, you were the apple of his eye.” What is he getting at? What does he want?

“Not to be rude sir, but I was on my way out.” I say, not trying to rush him, but at the same time, trying to get him the hell out of my house. I will have to disinfect every surface in here once he leaves the district.

“Oh, yes. As I mentioned, I was in the neighborhood, visiting our beloved victor’s and a thought occurred to me. You see, your father mentioned what an exceptional and talented musician you are. In the Capitol, we are seeking an aspiring pianist. And as I was passing through, your name came to mind.” I narrow my eyes at him, not realizing I am shaking my head. “Now, now, Miss Undersee, I just want you to think it over. I do not wish for an answer at this time. Just think about it. You could live a life of luxury in the Capitol, far, far away from this . . . slum.”

My heart is still racing as I think about wrapping my hands around this man’s neck and strangling the life out of him. I suck in a deep breath, gearing myself to tell this man where he can shove his ‘aspiring pianist’, when my front door flies open.

“Madge! I was getting—” _Gale, oh thank God!_ I think to myself. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a visitor.” Gale says, rushing to my side and extending a hand to our president. “Gale Hawthorne, sir.” He stares into the eyes of President Snow, acting as if he hasn’t a clue who the man is.

President Snow looks Gale up and down, refusing to take his hand. “Please Marjorie, I hope you will think about my offer. I shall be leaving now.” And then he slithers out the door.

“Madge, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Gale asks, stepping in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders, our noses only inches apart.

When blue meets grey, it’s all I can do not to break down. My eyes fill with tears, but not from sadness. With anger. Hatred. Venom courses through my veins with a desire to rip off the head of our dear president. I grit my teeth and the tears slip out of my eyes. “I. **_HATE_**. THAT. MAN.”

Gale pulls me into his arms, and I rest my head against his chest. “I know you do. I am so sorry. I wouldn’t have been so cordial with him if I thought I could get away with it.”

“I want to kill him for what he did. For what he does. I hate him that much. I think I could do it, Gale. I think I could take his life and be able to sleep at night. Does that make me a bad person?” I whisper the words so quietly next to his ear, I wonder if Gale even heard me.

“No Madge. You are _anything_ but a bad person.” Gale answers me, letting me know that I did, in fact, speak the words aloud. “What did he mean about an offer? What did he want? What is he doing in Twelve?”

“He offered his “condolences” for the loss of my parents. Said he was visiting his victor’s. He made an offer, inviting me to move to the Capitol to become one of his pianists. I won’t do it, Gale. First of all, I would never leave home. And . . . and I would never EVER want to live in the Capitol. But mostly, I would NEVER do **_anything_** that brings him a moment of joy.”

I slip out of Gales arms. “I need to change clothes. It’s why I came home in the first place, then I’m going to stop by and see Katniss and Peeta. Did you want to come? Oh, crap, I need to drop the basket of laundry off for your mother.”

“I already said my goodbyes.” He replies sharply. I know he hates his “cousin” status, even more so he hates all the cameras. “Did you want me to come with you?” I smile at his offer. Even though he doesn’t want to go, he is willing to tag along; for me.

“No, you don’t need to come, I’ll be fine.” I tell him, not completely certain it is the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Chapter 4: “Well, if it isn’t the little shit.” (Mrs. Mellark)
> 
> “Haymitch, I am quitting. Nothing you say will sway my decision . . . nothing short of promising me an end to the games.” (Effie)
> 
> I know I usually just give you a line from one character, but I couldn't decide which one I liked more.
> 
> So, there you have it, Chapter 3. Next chapter, our favorite couple will face District Eleven...what other things might they face? Thoughts, opinions? Feedback is loved, welcomed and appreciated...
> 
> Until next time
> 
> -Amelia


	4. Wash the Sadness Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In chapter 3, our favorite pair received a visit from President Snow.
> 
> This time: Effie has some troubling thoughts; Katniss plays dress-up with her prep team; Prim finally learned what a "Cinna" is; Mrs. Mellark is a bitch, as always, giving Peeta symptoms of short-term memory loss; Portia takes care of Peeta; Haymitch lets Effie in on a little secret; Cinna takes a walk with Portia and runs into Haymitch; Effie eavesdrops; Madge gets fired up; Katniss is visited by Thresh; Peeta enters Eleven, more than a little confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back my lovely readers! First, I would like to say thank you for all of your comments and kudos, they truly, truly mean the world to me. (I know I probably say this every single chapter, but it's true :) ) Not that this is important, but my birthday is Monday, and the best, best, best gift EVER would be . . . you guessed it! Reviews!!! Please, drop me a line once you’ve read. 😊
> 
> The 2 pictures of the "Box" (BELOW) is what I imagine Madge's box looks like. The one you see is my son's, a Hanukkah gift from his grandparents from a few years ago. Just ignore the "Happy Chanukah - 2018 - Love, Papa & Grandma" and replace it with Madge's initials. "M. A. U."
> 
> I think I’m going to try something new and give you guys a quote related to each chapter…
> 
> Quote: “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?” – Dr. George Berkley, Bishop & philosopher from the 1600’s.
> 
> P.S. - Are there any "Death Note" fans?

**Another Way Out**

**Chapter 4 – Wash the Sadness Away**

**| Effie |**

As instructed, I read from cover to cover, “Policies and Procedures Every Escort Must Know Prior to Tour Day” during my train ride to Twelve. I only had to suffer reading through it once, thanks to my near photographic memory. Surely, the author could have found a more enticing way to inform us escort’s the do’s and don’ts of proper etiquette among the various district’s. Perhaps in my upcoming free time, I shall do just that.

Per the manual, the standard procedure once arriving in your victor’s home district is for said escort to immediately seek out their champion. As all victor’s are from the districts, I suppose the Capitol does not entrust them to look captivating enough on their own; as far as Capitol standards are. I suppose it is not a bad thing. If I left it up to Katniss, I am certain she would not surprise me and present herself in her hunting attire. 

I can picture it so clearly in my mind; Katniss in those plain brown boots laced up to her calves and that over the shoulder braid that seems to be her go-to hair style. I chuckle to myself thinking about Katniss’ so obvious lack of fashion sense. I do suppose she has had more trivial things to worry about throughout her lifetime; _like feeding her family._ I immediately shake my head to eradicate the intrusive thought from my mind; thoughts such as these could surely result in my demise.

However, the manual has not been updated since Katniss and Peeta’s triumph, allowing myself some wiggle room. As significant as it is for me to adhere to my given timeline, I must deviate from the schedule and stop by Haymitch’s first. It is of the utmost importance that I inform him of my decision. After giving my thoughts much deliberation, I thought of nothing else for weeks and weeks; incessantly flip flopping back and forth, weighing the pro’s and con’s before finally coming to my decision. And might I add, I did not come to the conclusion lightly. I went many a night with barely a wink of sleep as I pondered my options. But I have made my decision and will _not_ be swayed. Therefore, I must inform Haymitch before he finds out otherwise. I simply do not want to imagine the hissy fit he would surely throw if he were to hear it from someone else.

Upon exiting the train, a car is waiting for me. I smile at my driver’s promptness, grateful that at least _someone_ appreciates the importance of schedules. “If it is not too much trouble, will you please drop me off at Haymitch’s residence, I must ensure that he is ready; what a travesty it would be for him to have stains of bourbon on his shirt for all of Panem to see!” I inform my driver, Mr. Yagami, rambling off my excuse for stopping there first. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch all live within walking distance of each other, so when I am done at Haymitch’s, I can just walk over to one of the children’s homes.

“Sure thing, Miss Trinket. That’s smart thinking, that man is always three sheets to the wind, if you know what I mean.” Mr. Yagami quips, oblivious to anything out of the ordinary.

“Indeed, I do.” I concur, feeling the sudden warmth fill my cheeks.

“You know Miss Trinket, my friends and I, well, we admire you. You’re the only one in as long as I can remember to keep that man in check. Everyone knows without you, those kids would have never made it back to Twelve.”

I begin to fan my face when I feel the heat ascending up my cheeks again; in hopes of cooling the embarrassment away before it is noticeable. “I . . . I appreciate that, but Hay— Mr. Abernathy is not nearly as wretched as he portrays himself. But thank you, all the same.” I placate him, not willing to take all the credit though. It is not a lie, Haymitch truly is not nearly as despicable as he presents himself. Sometimes, I wonder if he intentionally refrains from maintaining proper hygiene, in addition to his lack of daily grooming in an attempt to alienate those around him. Before this past year I would have been the first person to say yes. However, after everything I learned about him during the seventy-fourth games, I seem to find myself not quite as certain.

“Well, this is it.” Mr. Yagami affirms once he places the car in park. My luggage remains on the train, so the only thing I have to keep up with is my minaudière. After checking my reflection in my mini compact mirror, I smile when I see that not a single hair is out of place and then slide it back into the side pocket of my bag. Mr. Yagami slips out of the driver’s seat and circles the vehicle, rushing to my side of the car to open the door for me. I graciously accept his hand with a smile as he helps me out of the vehicle.

“Thank you, Mr. Yagami, I must commend you on your timeliness. So many of those around me just do not appreciate the importance of adhering to a schedule.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Trinket, truly.” He leans down to kiss the top of my gloved hand, which sends a wave of heat surging to my cheeks. Although I do so love flattery, I cannot help the flush of embarrassment it always seems to cause. I reach into my purse, retrieving a few coins to offer Mr. Yagami and hand them to him.

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” He politely declines the coins, waving his hand to dismiss the offer.

“Please, I insist. I simply refuse to take no for an answer, so if you do not accept my gratuity, we shall be standing out here all day. And . . . I am sure you have much better things to do, as do I.”

With much hesitation, he finally accepts the coins and shoves them into his pocket. “It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Trinket, and good luck with the ole’ fool. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I give him a bemused expression until I remember that he will be transporting the four of us back to the train. Quickly, I give him my brightest smile, slightly irritated at his term for Haymitch as we part ways. Something about the way he belittles District Twelve’s mentor hits a nerve deep in my core, although, I am not certain what it is; or _why._

As I watch Mr. Yagami driving out of Victor’s Village, I take a look around at all the vacant homes. Out of twelve immaculate mansions, only three remain occupied. “What a shame for these homes to just waste away when I am certain many of the families here must be forced to share a room.” My breath puffs out in a cloud as my words dissipate into the air. If no one hears my words, does that mean I did not say them? I surely hope so; otherwise, I could be hanged for such obtrusive comments.

As children, growing up in the Capitol it was made common knowledge from an early age that each district was supplied with its very own Victor’s Village. We were also made aware that it was always the nicest, most well-kept section of each district. It was fashioned that way as an incentive for the games. A way to inspire participation throughout the years. But in Twelve, I cannot help but notice how dilapidated it appears compared to the other districts. 

During escort training they allowed us to visit each district, informing us that all new escorts are placed in an outer district and must work their way up. I still remember my tour as if it were yesterday. I so badly desired to acquire my parents approval who had passed away the prior year. As the Capitol’s Chief Historian, my father shared so much of his knowledge with me, unbeknownst to anyone else. I knew if I soared from the bottom, making my way close to one of the career districts in no time, it would please my parents, even from beyond the grave.

Although I remember it as if it were yesterday, at the same time it feels like a lifetime ago; _yes, someone else’s lifetime._ As I look around the village a frown appears on my lips because the sad thing is that it _IS_ the most well-kept area in all the district. I truly believe the thing that depresses me the most is after meeting my darling Katniss and Peeta, I no longer strived to climb to the top; wanting only to remain by their sides. Oh, there have been so many times over the last few months where I longed to be that clueless girl once again.

_Why am I having such intrusive intellects today?_ I ask myself, sighing. Once again, I shake my head to rid the thoughts from my mind and walk up the steps to Haymitch’s door. I stomp my snow crusted heels at the door mat and then with my gloved hand, I knock, waiting for Haymitch to greet me. While I wait for him, I look out at the scenery. It is the dead of winter in Twelve, a blanket of snow covering everything in sight. If not for the coal dust imperfecting the pure white of the snow, it surely would be a lovely sight.

When Haymitch finally opens the door, his face lights up at the sight of me. However, just as quickly it reverts back into its usual frown. “Oh, it’s you.” He grumbles, widening the door and inviting me inside.

“I knew you wouldn’t be ready; Haymitch, the cameras will be here in less than an hour! Your clothes are not even clean!” I badger, scolding him and pull out a clean handkerchief to wipe at the stain on his shirt.

He pushes me away and scoffs, “Stop it woman. I can dress myself.”

“Clearly you cannot.” I tell him and shove the cloth back into my bag. I am repulsed by the stench in his home, as well as the array of clothes tossed throughout the room. But then, the smell of disinfectant wafts up my nostrils, which causes the corners of my mouth to turn up, slightly. _At least he_ attempted _to make an effort at tidying up prior to my arrival._ I think to myself. “Haymitch, you can afford a housekeeper, why not acquire one? Then perhaps you might have some clean clothes to wear and you would be able to find something amongst this . . . madness.”

“I’m not letting some _stranger_ in my home.” He scoffs, taking a seat on a wooden chair in the kitchen. He leans over with his foot propped up on his leg, applying an already formed sock to his foot, followed by his shoes; causing me to cringe in disgust. 

Call it a pet peeve if you will, but one thing I cannot stand is to apply a previously worn sock to my foot before it has been washed. Even if it was only on my foot for a moment or two, I simply cannot bare it. I shake my head, tsking at Haymitch. I choose to remain standing while I watch him, reaching deep inside to gather enough courage to recite the speech I have prepared.

“Shouldn’t you be at one of the kids’ houses, giving _them_ a hard time?” He grumbles, lifting an eyebrow. His curiosity is piqued; he knows I would never deviate from the agenda unless it was important. And it is. This is _the_ most important decision I have ever come to in my lifetime.

“Yes, but . . . but I . . . it is imperative that I speak to you first. Besides, they have their prep teams to help them get ready.” I tell him, trying my best to keep my voice steady.

“What’s wrong?” He tenses, glaring at me while sending me a concerned look. Only Haymitch has the ability to look irritated and concerned at the same time. With both socks applied to his feet, he slips his feet into his shoes, one at a time. He stands up, turning around to face the chair and props one foot on the edge to tie his shoe.

“Haymitch, I must inform you of a status change, as it will greatly affect you; all of you actually—” Both shoes are on and tied when he turns to face me, giving me his full attention.

“Wait a minute, let me find my shoes and we’ll take a walk. It’s nicer outside.” Haymitch says, standing up and running his fingers through his recently brushed hair. My nose scrunches up, in both confusion and from the stench of his home because Haymitch already has his shoes securely on his feet. Not only that, but it is freezing outside, the ground covered in at least a foot of snow. Has he lost his mind or is he already wast— OH! I think to myself, understanding his message. It is not safe to speak freely in his home, perhaps it is bugged.

“Oh, for crimney’s sake, it will take you at least an hour to find your shoes in this pigsty and we do not have that long. Why don’t we wait to have this conversation, I really must be getting over to Katniss’ home.”

“Yeah, okay. If you’re sure it can wait.” Haymitch remarks with squinted eyes as he jumps in front of me, blocking my path, “You okay, Trinkie?” He mouths, placing a hand on each of my shoulders.

“It’s nothing major Haymitch, I was simply thinking of settling down and when the time comes, I do not believe my significant other would approve of me gallivanting all over the country with a drunkard such as yourself.” I give Haymitch a bright smile, hoping he cannot sense my fear or the overwhelming discontent plaguing my soul.

* * *

**| Katniss |**

“Oh, my heavens Katniss! What have you done to your eyebrows!” Vennia exclaims. I have to bite my tongue to stifle my laughs from her spikey, aqua colored hairdo. The golden tattoos that were once only under her eyebrows have now curled around under her eyes. It must be _‘all the rave in the Capitol’_ I silently mock her, thankful for her ability to puncture the cloud of darkness that I am currently engulfed in from our _visitor._

“Uh . . . nothing?” I offer her a bemused answer, not understanding what all the fuss is about. “What’s wrong with them?” My genuine cluelessness seems to amuse her.

“Exactly. You have done _nothing_. I thought I told you when we parted ways in the Capitol, and I sent those tweezers home with you that you _must_ maintain the stray hairs! Goodness Katniss, this is going to take _forever!”_ She moans, rolling her eyes and shoving me into a chair. “I mean seriously, why must you make things so difficult for me?” She huffs, trying to mutter inconspicuously (and failing) under her breath. I really want to tell her that I have much more consequential things to worry about than the state of my eyebrows. Like perhaps, staying alive.

“Oh hush, Vennia. You’re being over dramatic, and you know it. All we have to do is highlight her already naturally beautiful features.” Octavia chimes brightly, sending a heat rushing to my cheeks.

The moment I left Peeta’s and walked into my house, I was bombarded by my prep team; leaving me no time whatsoever to absorb everything that just happened to us. I am still trembling from our interaction with the evil man we call our president. Not only that, but the stench of blood and roses is still prevalent in my nostrils. 

_What does he do, drink the stuff?_ I ask myself, picturing Snow dipping one of Peeta’s beautiful cookies into a cup filled with blood instead of tea.

_‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’_ Peeta’s voice fills my head, causing me to smile. I really must work on shielding my thoughts from him, but this time I don’t mind. I welcome his voice as I try to tune out Vennia and Octavia’s shrill comments.

_‘Is your prep team there too?’_ I ask him. While Vennia and Octavia carry on an over exerted, dramatic conversation about the state of my eyebrows and Flavius threatens to dip my fingers in some sort of repugnant elixir to keep me from biting my nails, I seek refuge in my conversation with Peeta.

_‘Were you able to talk to either of your parents before they got a hold of you?’_ Peeta inquires.

_‘No, the second I walked in they scooped me away, chastising me about my hairy face.’_ Peeta chuckles at my comment, forcing a scowl to my face.

_‘That wasn’t meant to be funny.’_ I grumble, furrowing my brows.

“Katniss, you must stop scowling. You are such a beautiful girl, if only you would just smile more often. You _are_ a victor, what’s not to be happy about?” Octavia chimes. Oh, if she only knew.

The four of us turn our heads to the door when we hear a knock. My mother’s head pops in, sporting a genuine smile. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but Cinna asked me to come in here and show you guys how I did Katniss’ hair for the reaping.” My heart accelerates from the sound of Cinna’s name. The anticipation of seeing him has me on pins and needles. Even though we’ve talked on the telephone, it just isn’t the same as seeing him in person.

I had completely forgotten that we owned a phone, since no one I know has one. We were all seated at the dining room table one night, engrossed in a conversation when, out of nowhere, it just started ringing. We all looked up, not quite sure what to do when Dad got up, answering the phone and handing it to me. I was scared at first, worried it was the president calling to threaten me or something. _No, he saved that for today._ I think to myself. I cannot even begin to describe the relief, no— the sheer excitement I felt when it was Cinna’s voice reverberating through the receiver that night.

Vennia grabs my mother a chair, positioning it behind me and promptly puts her to work. My pets gush, oohing and ah-ing each time I feel my mother tugging on my hair.

“Katniss! Why didn’t you tell us your mother was so talented? Why, you have . . . you have magical fingers, Mrs. Everdeen! You are simply gifted!” Octavia gushes and I can almost feel the embarrassment seeping off my mother. Like me, she is not comfortable when it comes to receiving compliments.

Once my prep team has deemed my hair presentable, my mother surprises me. “Guys, would you mind if I had a minute with my daughter?”

“Sure!”

“Of course!”

“We’re just going to check in with Cinna!” They gush, rushing out the room. Mom spins my chair so that she is facing me, cupping my chin in her hand. She looks deep into my eyes and for a minute, I think I’m in trouble.

Slowly, her face softens and she smiles at me. “Katniss, I just want you to know how proud I am of you. And . . . nothing that you could say or do, did, or didn’t do could ever change that. Dad and I, we are so proud of you and Peeta.” And then she scoops me into her arms, hugging me for the first time in a long time.

“Mom, I uh . . . I’m sorry, Mom. For how I’ve acted all these years; since Dad’s accident. Prim told me about your mom; I didn’t know, I wish—”

“Water under the bridge honey. You were right to be angry, I left you, and for that, I am so sorry— I cannot even begin to express the insurmountable shame and guilt I feel on a daily basis for my actions—”

“Mom, it’s okay,” I interject. “I understand now.” I tell her and she smiles.

“Let’s not fret about the past, let's just carry on from here.” I nod, smiling. I didn’t realize how much having my mother back would mean to me as the tear glides down my cheek.

“No tears. Your prep team will have my head on a platter if I mess up their fantastic work.” She says, wiping the tear away. And then it’s almost like my prep team never left when they come rushing back through the door.

“Sorry guys! Effie just arrived and she was adamant that we finish, that we are on a schedule!” Octavia chimes, shooing my mom out the door. Mom gives me a wink before she leaves, which sends a smile to my face.

“Ah! There’s that pretty smile; see, I knew you had it in you. Now, where were we—” Octavia begins, but I don’t hear what she says because out of nowhere, the familiar aroma of lemons slithers up my nostrils, reminding me of my time in the remake center.

“It’s time to wax your legs.” Vennia confirms, causing another scowl to appear on my face.

“What? Why!” I whine. “No one is going to even see my legs, it’s the middle of winter!”

“Not in Eleven. It’s nearly eighty degrees there. I just checked the weather, and they are forecasting perfectly clear, blue skies. Not a cloud in sight. But don’t you worry, Portia and Cinna have stocked your closets with an abundance of clothes appropriate for each district.” Octavia assures me, as if that is my main concern. I roll my eyes, cringing at the thought of our first stop on the tour. District Eleven is the home of Thresh and Rue. _Was. They are dead now._ They were our friends, our allies. How am I supposed to make it through this? _With Peeta, that’s how_ ; I remind myself.

_‘We’re going to make it through this Katniss. We’re going to be okay. We’ll convince Snow that we love each other, I mean, how hard could it be? We’ll convince him and everyone in the districts, then everything will be okay.’_ I think he’s trying to convince himself more so than me. But somehow, I don’t think it’s quite that simple.

“Isn’t it thrilling?”

“Don’t you feel so lucky?”

“In your very first year of being a victor, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!” 

I shake my head as their words overlap in a blur of excitement, I can’t even tell who said what first.

“Oh, Katniss! _What_ are they doing to you?” I turn my head, thankful for the interruption to see Prim scrunching her face up. 

* * *

**| Prim |**

“Primrose, calm down . . . can’t you sit still for one minute?” Dad asks me. I can’t help it, I’m too excited. I have been bouncing all over the house from the moment I woke up and they told me I didn’t have to go to school today. But that’s not the complete reason for my excitement.

A few months ago, we were all eating dinner together; it was me, Mom, Dad, Katniss and Peeta, when out of the blue, the phone rang. I saw the nervous glares my sister shared with Peeta when Dad answered the phone and then said it was for her.

_“H-hello?” Katniss’ voice quavers with fear. And then just like that, all the fear and trepidation disappeared with just one word._

_“CINNA!” She screamed into the receiver._

‘Cinna?’ _Where have I heard that word before? And then it hits me; it was the night of the opening ceremonies when I heard Dad say, “Everything is happening just as planned, Cinna did it.” I remember wondering who . . . or what a “Cinna” was. And now I know._

I’m really excited to meet this, _Cinna_. Not just excited, but like . . . over the moon, exploding at the seams, euphorically enraptured, excited. Katniss thinks the world of him, and she doesn’t think very highly of that many people, least of all, people from the Capitol.

After bouncing around the house for four hours, he is finally here. I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves and open the door to let him in.

“Well, hello! You must be the lovely Primrose Everdeen.” He greets me and I can’t suppress the elation I feel when I see him. He is just like Katniss said, warm, calm, seeming to emanate an aura of gentleness in just the tone of his voice.

“It’s just Prim.” I tell him cooly.

“Well, it is _my_ pleasure, ‘just Prim’. Cinna tells me. “If it’s okay with your parents, I could use a little help.” I look over to Mom and Dad, who give their nod of approval and then Cinna whisks me away.

He has a full wardrobe of outfits for Katniss, but he has also brought some other things he says he has been working on for me. The material is so soft, so delicate that I worry that if I pull on it too hard it might rip in half. Cinna lets me help him pick out what Katniss will be wearing for the interviews today.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and check to see how they are coming along?” He suggests. Eager to please him, I take the stairs two at a time and burst through the doors to see my sister.

“Oh, Katniss! _What_ are they doing to you?” I blurt out when I see her strapped in a chair, a lemony fragrance emanating from the room.

“Hey little duck. Aren’t you supposed to be in school or something?”

“Nope!” I tell her, popping the ‘P’. “I get special treatment because I am the _beloved_ sister of a victor and she is leaving for the Victory Tour today.” I grin, pulling a chair up next to Katniss.

“OWW!” Katniss screams in pain when Flavius rips more hair from her legs.

“Sorry Katniss.” He shrugs, giving her a pained look. “If you weren’t so hairy it wouldn’t hurt nearly this bad. We’re almost done though.” He actually sounds genuine, still; I sigh, rolling my eyes at Katniss, who seems to find amusement in my expression.

“Don’t look so happy, basking in my suffering.” She whines.

“Sorry.” I tell her and make a pouty face to conceal the grin.

“Don’t you have something else to do?” She asks me with irritation in her voice.

“Well, I mean, yeah, but this is more fun.” I giggle, and Katniss’ prep team joins me, causing a scowl to appear on my sister’s face.

I laugh and joke around with her prep team for a little while, which doesn’t seem to please Katniss. I am so absorbed in everything they are doing to my sister, and then jump when I hear the girl called _Octavia_ say, “Finally! Beauty base zero!”

“What’s—”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Katniss says.

“Aren’t you so excited Katniss?” Vennia trills.

“About you guys ripping my hair out?” I can’t help but giggle at her answer.

“No, silly girl! About the Quell. It’s yours and Peeta’s first year as mentor’s and you get to do it in a Quell! Oooh, I wonder what the card will say this year? I, for one, am **_so_** excited!” I meet Katniss’ eyes, and give her my “seriously” expression. Are these people ignorant or naive? By the look on Katniss’ face I can tell this is the last thing she wants to talk about and decide to change the subject.

“Peeta is going to pass out when he sees you!” I blurt out.

“Why, because I look like something that belongs in a zoo?” I’ve heard about zoos, although, I’ve never actually been to one in real life. Apparently, a long time ago, a time before the Dark Days, people could visit the “zoo” to see all the animals throughout the world; all in one place.

“No Katniss, because you are _breathtaking_.” I tell her, as if it isn’t obvious and get up from my chair, circling her once to get an aerial view.

“You really think so?” She genuinely asks me. What I want to do is smack her upside her head and say “DUH!”

But I don’t, instead I say, “Katniss, you are so blind sometimes. You could walk out in a burlap sack and Peeta would adore you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She rolls her eyes again. As smart as my sister is, she can be really stupid sometimes.

“Geez Katniss, you are so dense sometimes. Peeta loves you for _you._ Not for what you look like. Lord knows if it was for what you look like, he would have run away the first time you scowled at him.” My joke causes another scowl to resurface on her face. Geez, she is extra testy today.

“Well, I’m going to get my dress on now.” I give her a mischievous grin, refusing to give her the pleasure of ruining my exuberant mood and rush out the door.

“She is so sweet; I just adore your sister!” I hear Vennia from the other side of the door, just as Cinna comes up the stairs.

* * *

**| Peeta |**

After Katniss rushed home to meet her prep team, I run up to my room and remove my Capitol crafted prosthesis, switching it out with the metal one I had Mr. Laurel, our local blacksmith make for me. It’s not nearly as comfortable as the Capitol one, but I need to talk to Haymitch, and I can’t do it with that thing attached to my body. Even though I’ve drowned it several times over in water, I am still too nervous to take any chances. 

It pinches the skin on my leg as I run through the snow and then I see a flash of red, for some reason reminding me of my dad. “I’ll stop by the bakery first and then see Haymitch on my way home.” I tell myself as I pass Haymitch’s house and head into town. 

I look down at my watch that was a gift from Dylan, smiling when I remember what _else_ he gave me that night. The watch isn’t new, it once belonged to his father, and his father before him.

_“Peeta, can you come with me over to my house? I need your help with something.” Dylan asks just as I finish peeling and slicing the potatoes. Katniss and Madge just went upstairs to ‘catch up’ before Madge has to go home._

_“Um . . .” I say, meeting Lilly’s eyes before I agree to anything. She gives me a nod and something that looks like a sneaky smile._

_“Go on Peeta, we’re good here.”_

_“Okay.” I say unsteadily, getting up from the table and washing my hands. And then Dylan drags me over to his house. “So, what did you need my help with?” I ask him as he runs straight upstairs and into his room._

_“Have a seat Peeta.” He instructs me and I do as I’m told. He fumbles around in one of his drawers, sticking something into the breast pocket of his shirt before he joins me on the bed._

_“First, I want you to have this.” He says, handing me an antique looking watch. You can tell it has been passed down from generation to generation, but it’s still in good condition. I take it, holding it in my hand and turning it over and over to inspect it._

_“I— I can’t . . . this is too . . . it’s much too nice, I couldn’t possibly.” I tell him, handing it back to him._

_“Peeta, this was my father’s watch, and before it was his, it was his father’s, and so on, and so on. My dad gave it to me just before I met Lilly, and I was supposed to give it to my son. Seeing as I bore two girls, I cannot give it to them, so I want you to have it.” He says, pushing it back to me. Then he takes it from my hand, grabs my arm and begins to strap it on my wrist._

_“I . . . I don’t know what to say.” I stutter, at a loss for words. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?_

_“Say, ‘_ Thank you, Dad.’ _” He chuckles._

_The words_ thank you _seem too inconsequential so I wrap my arms around his neck, giving him one of Rye’s bear hugs._

_Once we pull back from our embrace, he pulls something else out of his pocket. It’s a tiny box; it looks like one of those boxes that are meant to hold a ring in the jewelers store. I open my mouth to protest once more and Dylan holds his hand up to stop me, his eyes closed as he shakes his head from side to side._

_“I don’t want to hear it Peeta. Lilly and I discussed this, and we both agreed that we want you to have it . . . for Katniss. We both see the way you two look at each other, and I know you talked about not doing this for a long, long, time. Whenever that time is . . . we want you to have this ring. I know it’s not fancy and you could probably buy a much nicer, fancier one in the Capitol, but this one has been in my family for over one-hundred years.”_

_I accept the box, holding it in my hand and inspect it just as I did the watch. If I was at a loss for words before, then I am now completely mute; turned into an avox. But he’s wrong; it’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. Sure it isn’t fancy like the ones you might find in the Capitol, but something like this has no value to it. It is priceless. No amount of money could replicate the_ history _this ring has._

_“Dylan, I . . . I . . . it . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s perfect, and it_ IS _beautiful.” It is a small band, either silver or white gold, I’m not sure and it has the tiniest, most beautiful green emerald embedded into the band; Katniss’ favorite color._

_“Grandmama said true love follows this ring, wherever it goes.”_

_“Lilly didn’t want it?” I ask._

_“Lilly wore it for a while, for many, many years actually. But she said she was ready to pass it down. So, this means if for some reason you and Katniss “break up”, I’ll be wanting this ring back.” He says, joking._

_“There is no one else for me, only Katniss.”_

I am jolted from my memory as I run into the door of the bakery. I take a step back and open the door, hearing the chiming of the bells. I smile; not realizing how much I missed them; all of them, until I see both of my parents and Rye standing in front of me. 

“Well, if it isn’t the little shit.” My mother murmurs quietly under her breath, and my happy moment is over. I might be a little naive at times, but I’m not stupid and I know that she intentionally spoke loud enough for me to hear. _Great._ I think to myself. _I came here because I wanted to see them, because after today I won’t see them for over two weeks and already she’s talking down to me._

“Hey Peet; Rye and I were about to head over to see you before you left. Is everything okay?” Dad asks me, his forehead wrinkling with concern. Rye runs up to me and wraps his arms around me, lifting me off the ground a few inches and spinning us around once.

“I don’t care if my little brother is a fancy, important victor, I’m still bigger than you!” He teases me, putting me down so I can stand on my own. As much as I hate him sometimes, hate how he always teases me, I love him to death. I’m not sure I would have made it this far without Rye. “I missed you man. School just isn’t the same without you; you’re so lucky you don’t have to go anymore.” 

_I’ll trade places with you._ I want to say, but then think better of it. “I just wanted to stop by and see everyone before I left; you know, without all the cameras.” I announce. Mother rolls her eyes at me and continues kneading the dough on the counter in front of her. I glance in the pastry case, deciding that I want to take something back with me.

“I’ll take some of those.” I tell Mother, pointing to the cheese buns. They’re one of Katniss’ favorites, although I know she’ll complain that **_I_** didn’t make them, it’ll give us a little piece of home while we’re away.

Dad greets me with a hug as well; not a clobbering one like Rye’s though. “I’ve got to take care of some things in the back, but I’ll see you before you leave okay?”

“Okay Dad.” He ruffles my hair, planting a kiss to the top of my head. “I think I’m going to take you up on your offer.” He whispers into my ear when he gives me a hug.

“Rye, can you give me a hand in the back?” Dad looks over to mom to make sure she didn’t hear anything. Oblivious to our interaction, Rye nods and follows Dad through the revolving door, disappearing into the kitchen. 

“What, you too good to bake your own bread now?” I am taken aback by my mother’s harsh words and narrow my eyes at her, feeling more hurt than I probably should. I need to stop getting my hopes up, believing that one day she is just going to miraculously love me. _Yeah, when hell freezes over,_ I think to myself.

“No— it’s just that my prep team will be arriving soon, and I didn’t think they would appreciate me being covered in flour.” I tell her defensively. Not to mention I wouldn’t have time to clean up afterwards. I’m sure Lilly and Dylan, and probably even Prim would have done it for me, but I don’t want them to have to do that.

“Well, you know you have to pay for them, right? Not all of us get to live in a big, fancy mansion with our buckets and buckets of money.” She admonishes, packaging up a dozen of the cheese buns. I want to tell her that perhaps if she hadn’t spent her life using me as her own personal punching bag, or maybe if she had treated me with even a modicum of respect that it’s quite possible that things would be different. Instead, I just accept another verbal lashing from her. My being a victor; surviving the arena has made no difference in how she sees me, how she treats me. I guess some things will never change; Graham will always and forever be the golden son.

I need to make things right with my mother, but I don’t know how to go about it. 

“Mom, I . . . I wanted to tell you something before I left.” I begin, feeling the palms of my hands begin to sweat in anticipation.

“Peeta, stop mumbling, you know I can’t stand that. And you’re not going off to the games again, we _know_ you’re coming back alive this time, so I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” Oh, if she only knew. My life is probably in more danger now than it ever was before. No, not probably; it **_IS_** _._

“I know Mom. It’s just . . . I just wanted you to know . . . I love you, Mom.” I manage to get the words out and walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I’m not sure what I expected, I definitely didn’t expect her to return the sentiment. But what she does next completely throws me for a loop. She peels my arms off of her, her face contorting into an expression of disgust.

“Peeta, I don’t have time for your childish shenanigans, I have work to do. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Surely, a big shot victor such as yourself has better things to be doing than getting all sentimental.” Biting my tongue, I nod my head and turn my back to her, fighting the tears. I push the door open and take the long way home, allowing the tears to fall with the flurries of snow.

Once the tears subside, I hear Katniss’ voice in my head, and the corners of my lips turn up at her question.

_‘What does he do, drink the stuff?’_ She asks herself; I can only assume she is referring to our dear president and how his body reeked of roses and blood.

_‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’_ I retort, thankful for the distraction.

_‘Is your prep team there too?’_ Katniss asks me.

_‘No, not yet.”_ I tell her, although not quite certain, since I am not home yet. _“Were you able to talk to either of your parents before yours got a hold of you?’_ I ask her as I make my way toward my house.

_‘No, the second I walked in they scooped me away, chastising me about my hairy face.’_ I convey a chuckle to Katniss, visualizing a scowl on her face.

_‘That wasn’t meant to be funny.’_ She grumbles; if she wasn’t scowling before, I definitely know, without a doubt that she is scowling now. For some reason when I picture her scowl it makes me think of Haymitch. Crap! I was so distraught over my interaction with my mother that I completely forgot to stop by Haymitch’s house. Great. Now there will be no time whatsoever to speak to him about our _visitor._

“Oh, my heavens, Peeta, we missed you so much!” Sapphire greets me when I walk into my house. I almost don’t recognize her without the deep emerald color of her hair. It is still short and spiky like the last time I saw her, but it is now a deep indigo blue; almost matching her name. It is so blue that it’s almost black. 

Sapphire, along with Henna and Artemis almost knock me down giving me a hug. When I finally wriggle out of their arms, I do a double take when I see that Sapphire is not the only one to have changed their appearance. Artemis’ once chocolate colored hair with green and purple highlights, that reached her calves is now cut clear up to her ears. She too has modified the color of her hair to a crimson red with orange, yellow and purple highlights. I try to give them a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes and they immediately notice it. “Peeta, what’s wrong? Why the long face?” She asks me.

* * *

**| Portia |**

“Portia, oh Portia, I so deeply, deeply apologize for interrupting you, but you must come at once!” Artemis rushes into Peeta’s art studio where I am collecting the paintings Peeta has given me permission to use on display in the Capitol. I meet her eyes, frozen in fear for a moment.

“What’s wrong Artemis?”

“I . . . we don’t know, Peeta— he just started crying and we cannot get him to stop! Please! Oh, Portia, we are at a loss as to what to do!” Artemis shrills, grabbing my arm and pulling me along with her. Together, we make our way across the hall to the bedroom they have converted into a dressing room of sorts. 

When I get into the room, I rush to Peeta’s side and take a seat on the bed next to him. He is sitting upright on the edge of his bed, face in his hands. Artemis was right, he is crying, as I can hear the sniffles from my spot next to him. 

Deciding that I need to keep my team busy and offer Peeta some privacy, I hand Sapphire the list of paintings to gather. “I need you guys to finish collecting these canvases and then double check his wardrobe for Eleven.” I tell Artemis and Sapphire, inspiring them to rush out of the room, eager to be of use. 

“Henna, why don’t you go into the other room and get the shower ready for Peeta?” I suggest, and just like the others, he bolts from the room, looking sympathetically at Peeta.

Once they are gone, I close the door and return to my seat next to Peeta. I place my hand on his, lowering the appendage from his face.

“What’s wrong Peeta? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” I ask him, keeping my voice soft and gentle. He meets my gaze, his eyes red and puffy from crying.

“No, no, I’m not hurt. I’m okay. I— I’m sorry Portia, I don’t mean to be crying like a little baby.” He sniffles, fighting more tears.

“What happened Peeta? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but my ears are open if you do.”

The corners of his mouth turn up and then he takes a deep breath, telling me everything. The more he speaks, the angrier I get. I fidget in place, wanting to get up and march over to his family's bakery and smack the woman who is his mother. Anger courses through my veins at the audacity of this woman. I don’t know what to do or say to alleviate Peeta’s pain, so I just pull him into my arms and hold him. The tears come again, but not as intense as when I first entered the room. I do not say a word, remaining silent as I hold him, and allow him to cry.

The tears flow and flow until finally, he sits up. “I’m sorry Portia, I know I need to get ready. I think . . . I think I just needed to get it all out.” 

“Peeta, you don’t have to apologize. You did nothing wrong. That woman— she—” I bite my tongue to refrain from saying anything I may regret.

“It shouldn’t surprise me, I mean, I’m _not_ surprised, but it still hurts. I don’t know why I let her get to me, it’s just . . . I don’t know; she’s my _mom._ Why can’t she just _pretend_ to care sometimes? I don’t know what I did to make her hate me so much. I’m sorry Portia, I don’t mean to be whining like a little baby.”

Peeta is far from a “little baby,” he is a survivor. Of more than just the games, too. “Peeta, you have every right to feel hurt and betrayed by your mother. If it makes you feel any better, I love you.” I tell him, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“It does. Help, I mean. Thank you, Portia.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his back. “Suck it up, Mellark.” He says more to himself than to me. “Okay, I’m ready Portia, what do we need to do?”

Just as I am about to send him to the shower, I notice something shiny and metal sticking out at the bottom of his pant leg. “Peeta, what happened to your leg?” I ask, noticing that it is not the Capitol one I watched Corri give to him.

“Oh . . . um . . . it’s my spare. I— I’ll go switch it.” He tells me quickly, and I wonder if he had someone craft him a leg due to the listening device in the other one. 

“Why don’t we start by getting you washed up? Henna should be upstairs preparing your shower by now, so why don’t you head over there? You know, wash the sadness away. But . . . ”

“I know, I’ll switch it first.” He promises. 

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it. See you on the other side.” I tell him, giving him a hug before I go. And then I leave the room, offering him some privacy and pull out my list to see what I need to do next. All the while, trying to keep myself busy in an attempt to distract myself from rushing to the bakery and giving Mrs. Mellark a piece of my mind.

* * *

**| Haymitch |**

The moment we boarded the train, everyone went to their separate corners for some much-needed time to ourselves. I take that back; the kids went off together, refusing to be separated any longer, while the rest of us went to our own compartments. It isn’t until our second night when everyone is finally all in the same room again. 

“You guys did good. Running into each other’s arms like that, falling on top of the boy in the snow; that was priceless!” I boast, recalling my kids on camera. I unscrew the lid to my flask, bringing it up to my lips and taking a swig.

“Uh, thanks.” Sweetheart mumbles, moving the food around on her plate. I wonder what’s got her in such a bad mood. I mean, she isn’t usually much for small talk, but something is off with her tonight; more so than usual, anyway.

Effie is the last one to arrive at the table shortly after dinner is served. Something is eating away at her too; it’s written all over her face. She isn’t her usual, chipper, bubbly self. Not only that, but she was the last one to arrive at the table when she is always the first one here. Her and her damn schedules.

“I, for one, thought they were _just_ sublime!” Portia beams, smiling at Peeta. I notice some kind of unspoken message between those two as well. Shit. What the hell is wrong with everyone tonight?

Effie picks her fork up, impaling a piece of meat on the spokes and shovels the food into her mouth. Very un-lady like if you ask me, but what the hell do I know? I can’t help but notice her screwed up face as she chews her food for a moment; as if she just took a bite out of a lemon and not a piece of steak.

Suddenly, the train comes to an abrupt halt, and the unforeseen shift in gravity causes the table to slide across the room, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“What in crimney’s—” Effie growls through gritted teeth, standing up from the table to reveal the contents of her wine glass all over her lap. She storms out of the dining car going off on a tangent. I raise an eyebrow and meet Cinna’s eyes as we hear Effie shouting about improper this and wretched that.

“Must I place a call to your superiors to inform them of the disastrous nature of your performance? This is supposed to be a Capitol train for my victor’s and not a train herding cattle!” The five of us hear Effie, her voice growing smaller and smaller as she gets further and further away.

“What’s got her in such a mood?” I ask, taking another swig from my flask. Everyone is still sitting in their chairs with their silverware in hand, looking at the table on the other side of the room.

“Who knows, but now we’re off schedule, and it’s going to be a big, big day!” Katniss rolls her eyes, mimicking Effie.

“Katniss, stop. Don’t make fun of Effie.” The boy scolds her.

“Someone should go to her.” Portia suggests, looking directly at me.

“Don’t look at me, that woman hates me.”

“Fine, I’ll go.” The girl says, standing up from her chair when the boy grabs her arm. He gives her a look that says _Don’t you dare_ , but no words come out of his mouth. I wonder if they are doing that _“silent talking”_ thing again.

“Dammit, fine, I’ll go. Looks like we’re stuck here anyway. Nothing better to do, I s’pose.” I grumble and go on a search for Trinkie.

My first stop is her compartment, which I find empty. I search every possible room on the train and still can’t find her. “Where the hell are ya, Trinkie?” I speak into the air, hoping nothing bad happened to her. I make my way off the train and suck in a deep breath I didn’t even realize I was holding when I see her. She is pacing back and forth; apparently having a conversation with herself, which causes the corners of my lips to curve up.

“What the hell was that all about?” She jumps at the sound of my voice, her face flushing with embarrassment.

“Oh my, Haymitch. I was, oh my goodness, I was—” She stumbles over her words, hiding her face behind her hands.

“Yeah . . . you were kind of ridiculous. Well, I mean, you were just kinda acting like . . . like the “ _old_ ” you.” I tell her. “Come on, let’s stretch our legs. Train’s not going anywhere for a while.” She nods and we take off, getting away from prying eyes.

Effie is the first to break our silence on our little walk. “I suppose I shall tell you now, what I came to tell you when I first arrived at your residence.”

I lift an eyebrow, asking her _“What?”_ with my eyes.

“Haymitch, I . . . I can’t do this anymore.” She admonishes, closing her eyes with a slight shake of her head.

“You can’t do what?”

She inhales a refreshing breath and slowly opens her eyes to look at me. “Once the tour has reached its completion, I plan to hand in my resignation.” She informs me with her head held high. Frozen in shock, I tense up as fear consumes me at the thought of the Capitol sending someone in her place. 

“What, why? Because we won’t be on time? Because of a little cold food? Come on Trinkie, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t worry Haymitch, they will send someone to replace me. Escorts will be lining up to have Katniss and Peeta. You; not so much.” She tries to lighten the mood by joking around but this is no joking matter. She can **_NOT_** quit on me; she just can’t.

“Effie . . . I . . . you can’t . . . you can’t leave Katniss and Peeta in the hands of . . . of _one of them.”_ I spit the words out, using her actual name to convey how serious I am. I see a slight shudder course through her at the mention of one of her peers in her place. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Effie and I are a team, Katniss and Peeta, well, they’re kind of like our kids.

“No Haymitch, it is not because of the food, nor due to the delay. It is because of . . . well, because of Katniss and Peeta.” A heated anger surges through me, wondering what the hell the kids could have possibly done to push Effie into wanting to quit. She can’t quit, we need her. The kids need her. I need her.

“What did they do? You tell me, and I’ll set them straight.” I tell her, gripping tightly onto my flask. Whatever happened to bring her to this decision; I have to fix it. I _will_ fix it.

She shakes her head and gently places her perfectly manicured hand on top of mine. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her without gloves on. She has such soft, delicate hands. Wait— what? 

“No, Haymitch, they didn’t do . . . they—” She pauses as she looks into my eyes, then averts them to the ground. “— they made me . . . love them.” She continues looking at the ground as if she is embarrassed. As if loving two kids is a crime. But what do I know? Maybe in the Capitol it is. Still, I can’t help the deep belly laugh that erupts from me.

“So what?” I cackle, trying to subdue my laughter. I might not have said it out loud, but hell, I love the damn brats too. It’s kind of hard not to. The boy— well, he’s easy to care about and the girl; well, let’s just say she reminds me so much of myself before I turned into the wasted asshat that I am today. And I intend to do everything in my power to ensure that she never comes within _miles_ of my behavior.

“Haymitch, I . . . I can’t . . . I just can’t do this anymore. I cannot bear to listen to their screams in the middle of the night. Katniss . . . she wakes up several times throughout the night in a hysterical fit of screams. And Peeta . . . Haymitch, have you seen his paintings? He _paints_ his nightmares . . . of the _games_. I just . . . I cannot bear to sit around and witness their suffering, knowing that I am powerless to do anything to alleviate their pain. Once the tour is over, I will be left alone to my devices. I will have no one by my side to understand _my_ suffering.”

“Oh, come on, don’t you have friends in the Capitol?” I ask her playfully.

“Oh, please!” She bellows, glaring at me. “My _friends_ in the Capitol . . . they relish in the games. And I . . . perhaps I was once like that, but that is no longer me. I cannot simply go back to the way it was before. Trust me, I have tried.” I see the pain clearly etched in her features and I find myself _wanting_ to erase it away. But she’s right. The Effie Trinket I first met all those years ago died a long time ago. She died alongside _Rosemary._ That was the year I noticed the shift in Effie Trinket, Capitol Escort. It was the years that followed her death that led me to trust her. Trust her enough to bring her in . . . just enough to ask her to call a certain name. And she did it, without hesitation. Without asking a single question. I told her it would make all the difference . . . and she just . . . _did it._

“Effie, please . . . just . . . don’t quit yet. Let me talk to the others—” I beg; pleading with her but her face remains a hardened shell. For many years she has practiced this cynical, stoic expression; the one she uses when she is being stubborn, when changing her mind is no longer an option. But I _have_ to change it, I _can’t_ do this without her.

“Haymitch, I am quitting. Nothing you say will sway my decision . . . nothing short of promising me an end to the games.”

They’re probably going to be pissed as hell at me for making this call on my own, but we need Effie Trinket. And she’s loyal to my kids. That’s all I need to know . . . and _I_ trust her. 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” The words seem to slip out of their own volition. “What if I told you there was a group of us, and that is our exact intentions?” I continue.

“Haymitch, the six of us do not constitute—”

“No, Effie, it’s more than just us. _LOTS_ more. Like dozens and dozens of us, from _each_ district.”

“You mean—”

“Rebels.” I confirm with a nod, my lips set in a firm line.

She stops in her tracks, her eyes going huge and looks at me. “I beg your pardon?” She asks, as if I stuttered or something.

“What if I said there was a group of us . . . our intentions to put an end to the games? That when I asked you to call the name “ _Primrose Everdeen_ ”, well, that was step one. Would that change your mind? Come on Trinkie, I can’t do this without you. Please reconsider; you can’t quit on me now.”

Her entire being perks up and the corners of her mouth turn up in a radiant smile. “What must I do to assist in the cause? Please Haymitch, tell me how I can help our darling children.”

I smile at her sentiment. “For now, I just need you to play your part; keep acting like the “ _old you_ ”. And I’ll talk to the others. Do you think you can do that? For Katniss and Peeta?” _For me?_ The thought pops into my head, causing a stirring in my belly. Where the hell’d that come from? I think silently.

“Yes, yes, I certainly can. I should return and apologize for my behavior. No, no; I did nothing wrong. I should act as if I am above everyone else; as if _they_ were in the wrong. I will return as if nothing is amiss. Thank you Haymitch.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “For what?”

“For trusting me.” She smiles, leaning over and giving me a hug.

Okay. That was weird.

Her entire demeanor changes from sad and sullen to glowing, radiating a brilliant light and full of life. We walk back toward the train and she disappears inside, yapping orders to the attendants.

* * *

**| Cinna |**

“Looks like you were the right one to send.” Portia tells Haymitch as we watch Effie re-enter the train, bossing the attendants around again as if she hadn’t just had her little tantrum. Portia and I decided to take a walk to stretch our legs; and to make sure Effie and Haymitch weren’t killing each other, only to see Effie with a little extra pep in her step.

“Yeah, I guess.” Haymitch mumbles. Although he is slouched over and acts grumpy, I can see that Effie’s change in demeanor pleases him. “What are you guys up to?”

“Since the train is not planning on moving for a while, Portia and I thought it would be a great opportunity to take a walk and stretch our legs. Would you care to join us?” I ask Haymitch, hinting that there is something we need to discuss.

“Sure, why not?” Haymitch turns around and we follow him down the same path we saw him and Effie coming back from.

We make small talk until we get far enough away, feeling confident that no listening devices can pick our words up. Haymitch shoves his hands into his pocket, retrieving a coin. I immediately recognize it as Beetee’s creation to drown out the Capitol’s listening devices. He looks surprised when he sees it, which makes me think he didn’t even realize he had it with him.

“What’s up?” He keeps the coin pinched between his fingers.

“We have been unable to reach Plutarch—” I begin.

“Do you think . . . does Snow know about him?” Haymitch interrupts me, anxiety prevalent in his features.

“No . . . no, it’s not that. He’s just too high up and is constantly surrounded by Snow’s guys.”

“Well, how’d we get in touch with Crane when he was the Head?”

“We used Plutarch.” Portia says.

“Oh. Well shit. Damn. What . . . how—”

“Portia had an idea . . . which I thought was rather brilliant of someone we could use. We thought we should first run it by you. You see, we need someone close to the games, someone who wouldn’t look suspicious when striking up a conversation with Plutarch. Someone like . . .”

“Someone like a Capitol escort.” Portia interjects with much excitement.

Haymitch chuckles at her suggestion, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I talked her into not quitting.” Haymitch boasts proudly, grinning from ear to ear.

“You did what?” I ask, more shocked than anything else. I have never doubted Effie’s love and devotion for Katniss and Peeta, but since she _is_ a Capitol escort, I am aware that there are some who may have their doubts.

“I didn’t tell her much; she was more concerned about what she could do to help Katniss and Peeta.” Haymitch begins, giving us a rundown of his conversation with Effie. “She doesn’t know about you guys, or anyone actually. Her only concern was how she could be of help to the kids.” Haymitch tells us.

“I was just telling Katniss and Peeta what an asset Effie was; how we’d all be lost without that woman.” Portia gleams.

* * *

**| Effie |**

“How are we supposed to do this Katniss? Get up on stage and tell the people of District Eleven that we’re sorry for their loss when _we’re_ the reason their kids are dead? How are we supposed to look them in the eye after all that we did?” I hear my darling Peeta confide to Katniss as I walk down the hall. I know it is rude to eavesdrop, but something is compelling me to stay.

“Together Peeta, that’s how.” Katniss replies, and I can just imagine her pulling Peeta into her embrace as she tries to offer him comfort.

“I don’t think I can do it Katniss.”

“Do what?”

“Get up on the stage and read from those cards. Read the words the Capitol has written for us when Thresh and Rue . . . they weren’t just tributes Katniss; they weren’t just our allies. They were more than that, and I don’t know, I think it would feel . . . I don’t know . . . _wrong_ to just . . . read the cards.”

“Then don’t do it. We’ll give our own thanks; we’ll speak from our hearts.” I smile, tiptoeing away from my darling children as I make my way to my compartment when I bump into Haymitch.

“Oh! Just the beautiful lady I was looking for!” He rants. He must be drunk, Haymitch is never this cheerful. I snatch the glass from his hands, putting it up to my lips and turning it back, a shiver coursing through me as the vile liquid enters my body.

“Blech! How do you drink this stuff?” I ask as he pulls me to the last car on the train. The one with the remote-control windows that allow fresh air to enter, disabling any listening devices.

“Okay, we don’t have long, and I need your help.” Haymitch begins, all traces of inebriation have vanished. Oh, so he was just faking.

“What is it Haymitch?” I ask with a concerned look on my face.-

“I know you have the cards the Capitol gave you for the kids to read in Eleven, but I need your help to find a way to tell them not to . . . I need to find a way to get them to truly speak to the people of Eleven. I don’t think it should be hard, since they were allies and all—”

“Haymitch—” I begin but he cuts me off.

“I know, I know, you gotta follow the schedule and the rules and blah, blah, blah. But this is a big deal Effie, this is the first step in making a difference.”

“Haym—”

“Come on, Trinkie, you said you wanted to help—”

“Haymitch, would you shut up and allow me to speak?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. His eyes are apologetic as he nods his head.

“On my way to my compartment, I passed by the children’s room and accidentally overheard them talking.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And, well . . . Peeta was asking Katniss how they were going to get up on stage and read off the cards, to which Katniss suggested they do the exact opposite and give their _own_ thanks to the people of District Eleven. I believe at this very minute; they are compiling their own words for the speeches. But Haymitch, I do not understand, how will this make any difference?”

“Because it’s not the same thing as every other year. It makes them human, makes them real. Of course, the Capitol will probably cut the feed once they realize what is happening, but it’ll be enough to make a difference. It’ll give the people hope, something to fight for.”

* * *

**| Madge |**

“Madge, hey Madge, wait up!” I turn my head to see who is calling my name. After Katniss and Peeta left, I stopped by the mayor’s house for Kizzie’s piano lesson. Mayor Kadinski offered to give me the day off because of all the festivities today, but I insisted it was okay. Really, I did it more for myself than for Kizzie, as selfish as that is. But with the stress of what my friends will be faced with, I needed my music. I needed for my fingers to press the familiar keys and for my mind to be inundated with the soothing melody of Nocturne #20 in C Sharp Minor. It is my go-to piece when I am stressed out.

“Hey Rye, what are you doing all the way out here?” I ask him, slightly confused. We are on the edge of town, almost in the Seam and pretty far from the bakery.

“Sorry— let me— catch my— breath!” He huffs. I stop walking to give him a minute to regain control of his lungs. His hair is a disheveled mess, and he has that same goofy grin that he always wears. “Geez, you walk fast.” He finally says after a moment.

I raise an eyebrow, not sure what he means. “I do?” ‘ _Well, I_ **was** _on the track team, back when Katniss and Peeta were in school.’_ I smirk silently to myself.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to catch up with you since the fourth house past the mayor’s mansion— which is when I finally decided to yell your name.”

“Oh, okay. Well, what’s up?”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Um, so Peet said I could come find you and you would give me a key to his house. He said I could stay there some while he was gone.”

“Oh yeah. Peeta told me you would probably ask for it. If you want to follow me to my house, I can give it to you.” 

“Okay, cool.” Together we continue walking, making our way to my house. I am thankful for Rye’s constant joking banter, keeping away from any serious talk until I can just barely make out the silhouette of my house.

“Madge, something is going on with Katniss and Peeta, and I think Haymitch might be in on it, I’m not sure. But I’m worried about my little brother. I know you have been friends with them for a long time, so . . . I don’t know, maybe this is a long shot, but do you know anything? I swear, I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just worried. I’m actually— Madge, _should_ I be worried?”

His question takes me by surprise, it was the last thing I ever expected to hear from the school's number one jokester, Rye Mellark. The shock freezes me in place for a split-second, but I quickly resume walking, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Rye, it’s not safe to speak right here.” I whisper, keeping my eyes trained forward. “When we’re in class tomorrow, I will tell you where we can meet to talk.” I never look over to see if he heard me and then my heart accelerates when I realize my house is within a few steps. “I really love the cookies at the bakery!” I chirp, finally meeting his eyes. He nods, understanding the message I was trying to convey.

I reach into my pocket, retrieving my house key and unlock my door. Rye follows me inside, closing the door behind him.

“This is really nice Madge.” Rye says, trying to be polite when he looks around at the tiny home. I roll my eyes and make my way into the kitchen where I stowed Peeta’s key. He asked me to keep it in a secure location in case either Rye or his dad were to ask for it.

“It’s okay Rye, I know it’s shit here. But I’m making it work. I don’t need much.” I tell him, discreetly pulling the key from its secret location. Just in case Rye saw it, I’ll have to move my box somewhere else. I can’t risk anyone finding out about its contents.

I walk over to Rye and hand him the key to Peeta’s house. “Here you go. Don’t lose it, I don’t have another one.”

“Thanks Madge. See you at school tomorrow?”

“See you at school tomorrow.” I confirm.

Once Rye is gone, I plop down on my couch and look around the house. _Where can I move my box?_ I ask myself. My tiny little box, handcrafted by my very own father from the wood of an oak tree is no more than seven and a half inches wide, four and a half inches long, and about two inches deep. For the moment, it only houses Katniss’ house key, my _special_ book, a letter my father wrote me and two letters I found that my mother wrote me. Rose gave me the first letter from my mother after they died. In each letter, mama has left a trail of breadcrumbs leading to another letter; scattered throughout the district. Oh, and there is also this coin my father left me. I haven’t figured out its purpose, but it must be important, otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered keeping it a secret.

I am constantly moving my box, afraid of someone finding it. I alternate between a few hiding spots in a few select trees but having it in my house makes me feel safer. Somewhere within reach.

I stand up and begin pacing the floor of the living room. “Why is Rye worried? Did he see something? Hear something? Did Peeta tell him anything?” I ask myself, still looking for a new hiding place for my box. Just then, the floorboard creaks under my foot. I take a step back and it creaks again. Curiosity overtakes me and I get down on my knees to inspect the plank, only to find it loose. It’s loose, but not that loose. Eventually, I am able to pry it up.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim when I see what is hidden underneath the floorboard. It is a hidden compartment, a perfect place for my box. But there is something else here too. It looks like someone else had the same idea as me. It is a box, almost the exact same dimensions as mine, except it has a mockingjay carved on the face of it, where my box displays a tree, with my initials engraved on the inside.

I switch the boxes out and replace the plank, sliding my couch over it. No one ever comes over here, and if Gale happens to pop in, he will just think I rearranged the room. As if on cue, the moment I am done, there is a knock at the door.

“Gale.” I say, surprised when I see him.

“Everything okay?” He asks, raising a brow.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.” I tell him, trying to play it cool.

“Can I come in?” He asks me.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” I widen the door for him to come in and then wrap my arms around his neck, needing the security of his touch.

Something is wrong though; I can sense the tension in the air. I pull back to meet his eyes and ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Vick said he thought he saw Rye Mellark over here.”

“He saw right.” I confirm, nodding.

“What was he doing over here?” Oh, I see, jealous Gale is coming out to play.

“He came to get Peeta’s house key.” His eyes narrow at my statement; I do not like where this is going.

“Why did you even have it?” He demands, his eyes narrowing as he glares daggers at me accusingly.

“What’s with the third-degree Gale?” I demand, narrowing my own eyes and furrowing my brows. I can glare just as efficiently as he can; better even.

“I don’t like Rye Mellark; I don’t want you talking to him. He’s a townie, and bad news at that.”

“I’m sorry, _what_ did you say? You don’t **_want_ **me talking to him? Who are you, my father? And just in case you forgot, I’m a townie too Gale!” I scream at him, feeling the blood in my body begin to simmer.

“He’s an asshole and I don’t want you talking to him Madge. And you’re not a townie, you live here in the Seam, same as me.”

“Okay, **_first_** of all Gale Hawthorne, I was born and lived in town up until six months ago. I have “ _townie_ ” friends that I’m not just going to abandon simply because of a change in venue.” I don’t realize it, but with each word that escapes my mouth, my voice seems to get higher; louder; angrier. “Second of all, you do **_NOT_ **tell me who I can or cannot talk to. I am a big girl Gale; I can take care of myself and I think it’s time you left.” I walk over to the door and open it, motioning for him to leave.

“Madge, I—”

“GET OUT!” I scream even louder.

His shoulders are hunched over as he walks out the door and then I slam it behind him just as he turns around and says my name.

“Fucking shithead. Asshole, mother-fucker!” I scream to no one. “Who does he think he is, telling **_me_ **who I can talk to? I don’t think so, Rye is my friend and I’ll talk to him whenever I damn well please!” I rant; although no one is listening, it feels satisfying to yell the words out loud. I wish Katniss was still here, I bet she’d march over there and slap him or something.

“Pgh. Tell _me_ what to do, Gale Hawthorne? I don’t think so.”

* * *

**| Katniss |**

“Why do you think everyone is acting so weird?” I ask Peeta. We decided to sleep in Peeta’s old room since “ _my room_ ” reminds us too much of being herded off to the slaughter for the games. Peeta is pacing back and forth while I stare at the dots on the ceiling.

_‘Did you bring your other leg?’_ I ask him, remembering the day he came home with the “ _leg_ ” he asked our local blacksmith to fashion for him. The one he wears when we need to have important conversations with Haymitch. He doesn’t need it when he and I have conversations because we talk in our heads, but Haymitch doesn’t have that capability. It’s genius if you ask me.

Still pacing, Peeta nods with his fingers in his mouth, biting at the skin; a new nervous habit of his.

_‘There is something they’re not telling us, something they’re leaving out. I feel like they all know something, like they’re all keeping a secret from us. I just . . . I don’t know what it could be . . . I don’t know Katniss and it’s driving me crazy!’_ Peeta says, still pacing and running his fingers through his hair.

I sit up, bored of the dots on the ceiling and pull Peeta to the bed. He doesn’t fight me; he just sits down. I scoot behind him, propping myself up on my knees and massage the tension from his neck. He immediately relaxes as I work my way down to his shoulders, trying to loosen up the knots bulging from his neck.

“Better?” I ask him.

“Mmm hmmm . . .” He responds.

_‘Katniss, you know we can’t do what Snow wants, right?’_

_‘I know Peeta, but we also can’t make it seem like we are outright defying him either.’_ Yes, Snow needs to think we are abiding by his rules, otherwise— well, lives are at stake.

_‘So, what will we do? How do we do it?’_

_‘I think this is one of those moments where we’re just going to have to wing it.’_ Winging it. Playing it by ear. Last minute decisions. I detest all of those phrases. I like to know what I’m walking into; I like having a plan. I am not good at _winging it_. But I guess I am going to have to learn how to be.

Once Peeta relaxes, we change into our pajamas and crawl into bed. I fall asleep on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, just like I do every night.

_“Katniss, Katniss? Is that you Katniss? It’s me. It’s Thresh. Can you hear me?”_

_I turn my head to the left to see Thresh walking towards me. He looks just like he did that first night we were together in the arena. He looks well, his face is bright, filled out and full of life; almost as if he’s glowing. In other words, he looks healthy and not like a rotting corpse._

_“Thresh, is that . . . is it really you?” I smile when I see him and it feels as if my entire being has lit up with a brilliant light at the sight of him._

_“Oh Katniss! I am so glad you’re okay, I thought . . . I’m just so glad.” He runs up to me and wraps his arms around my neck. “Listen, we don’t have much time, so I need you to listen carefully.”_

_“Okay.” I nod and he pulls me to a bench where we sit down. We are outside somewhere; there are so many trees . . . and I smell . . . apples? Wherever we are, it’s more beautiful than anything I have ever seen._

_“Katniss, this is important, so I need you to remember this okay. You can’t play along with their game; you have to be yourself. Tell them what you really think, how you really feel; they’ll want to know. And my mom; when you see her, I need you to give her a message for me. Will you do that for me? Please?”_

_“A message? What kind of message? And how will I know who your mother is?”_

_“Katniss, I need you to tell my mom, her name is Roberta, I need you to tell her that I found the rainbow. Tell her I found the rainbow and it’s more beautiful than anything she ever described. Now, tell me what you are going to tell her.”_

_“Your mother, Roberta; you want me to tell her you found the rainbow and it’s beautiful. More beautiful than she said.”_

_Thresh smiles, nodding his head “And remember, you and Peeta, you make your own rules.” He finishes and then just like that, he vanishes into thin air._

_“Thresh, Thresh! THRESH, WHERE ARE YOU, WHERE DID YOU GO!!!???”_

“Katniss, Katniss wake up. Katniss baby, wake up, it’s okay. It’s just a nightmare.” I open my eyes to Peeta’s worried ones staring back at me. Wait a minute, did he just call me _baby?_

“I need a piece of paper, hurry, now, now, please!” I shout, ignoring the fact that Peeta just used a pet name, something he knows I detest. He gets up and pulls a notepad from the nightstand drawer, handing it to me, along with a pencil.

I take the pencil and scribble everything I can remember from my dream.

“Katniss, what’s going on?” Peeta asks, clearly confused by my antics. He doesn’t need to look over my shoulder to read what I have written, he heard it in his head as I was writing it down.

_‘Thresh’s mom – Roberta. Thresh found the rainbow – it’s more beautiful than she said.’_

“I don’t understand.” He admonishes.

“Me either, it was in my dream.” _‘I don’t even know if it was real or just something my brain made up . . . but I feel like it’s important.’_

_‘Okay. We’ll see if we can find out.’_ He promises.

“Katniss! Katniss! Are you up yet? It’s time to prepare for the day!” I hear my pets on the other side of the door. I think they’re looking for me in my room, which is just across the hall.

“I guess it’s time to get up. It’s going to be another big, big, big day!” I mumble, rolling my eyes.

“I’ll distract them so you can sneak back into your room.” Peeta tells me. Although Haymitch is aware of mine and Peeta’s sleeping arrangement, it is considered _improper_ for a girl to spend the night with a boy if they are unwed in the Capitol. Plus, it’s kind of nice to have somewhere to hide where they can’t find me.

* * *

**| Peeta |**

It was hours before Katniss was deemed _presentable_ by her prep team and I was able to see her again. As soon as she was done, I went straight to her and scooped her away, pulling her to the last car on the train. The windows are electric and all you have to do is press a button and they disappear into the ceiling, allowing us some fresh air. Together, we sit in the last car as we make our grand entrance to Eleven.

Other than the Capitol, it is the place we are most dreading. We didn’t kill either of their tributes; Thresh and Rue were both our allies and friends. Katniss and I were both present (although, not together) as they died. We held them in our arms as they breathed their last breath. I painted Rue a beautiful picture with my words, giving her a make-believe, picture-perfect life. Katniss held Thresh and embellished him with a song for comfort, followed by performing Twelve’s death right’s.

We take a seat on the bench, watching the world pass us by in flashes. We go under some kind of tunnel where everything is pitch black for a moment. Katniss squeezes my hand and I think, like me, she’s taken back to our arena when the gamemaker’s blinded us. When we come out of the tunnel, there is a brief moment of light before we’re back in another tunnel. But in that briefest of moments, I see something. Or at least I _think_ I see it.

_‘Katniss?’_

_‘I saw it too, Peeta.’_ She confirms. It was an image of the two of us. The picture of Katniss was like a coin spinning over and over again. First, it was her face and then she was replaced with an image of her mockingjay symbol. And mine. I don’t understand it. It was my face and then it transformed into what looked like a _jabberjay_. It was so fast, had I blinked I would have missed it.

“Well, that’s different.” I say, shocked by the thirty-foot-high fence and the barbed wire lining it. The district is massive, more massive than I ever could have imagined. I remember Thresh and Rue telling us about it, but this . . . it’s like ten times the size of Twelve. And we are making our way straight into it, head on.

x-x-x-x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, another massive chapter for you guys! Please do not hesitate to drop me a line (or more if you’re feeling generous) to let me know what you thought. What did you like? Not like? Questions, comments, opinions, feedback, criticism, and everything in-between are all welcome :) Remember, Monday is my birthday and I would just love, love, love to hear what you thought :)
> 
> I’m still looking for a beta/pre-reader, so please let me know if anyone is interested. You can send me a message on here, or email me at “jen.ameliaodair@gmail.com”
> 
> Find me on Tumblr, I’m “@ameliaodair”
> 
> Just FYI, Effie’s “pet peeve” about the socks . . . not being able to stand putting a sock she has worn, even if it was just for a few minutes (after taking it off) Yep, you guessed it, that’s me! Let’s just say, I have SoOoOoOo many pairs of socks at home 😊
> 
> And finally . . . from Chapter 5, our line comes from Peeta:
> 
> “Sure. Let’s get married!” I say and storm back down the way we came and somehow, find myself back on the train.


	5. Something Rebellious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madge and Kizzie make some music, meanwhile, Madge makes a discovery; Katniss & Peeta anxiously arrive in 11; Peeta makes a grand gesture; Gale has a temper-tantrum (again- I know right!); Katniss is moved by Peeta's words and turns 11 upside down with her melodic vocal cords; Cinna and Portia are awesome as always, doing their part on the sidelines; Haymitch leads Effie, Katniss and Peeta through a maze for some answers; Rye gives his mother and older brother, Graham a piece of his mind; Katniss meets Roberta; Madge gets a pen pal; Prim is sassy, as always; Effie receives a letter from the Capitol; and the voice in Snow's head refuses to leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, all lines depicted from the original book belongs to Suzanne Collins. In addition to the referred songs in this chapter: also, NOT MINE. (Just minding my P’s and Q’s)
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes, you truly, truly made my day!

****

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**Another Way Out**

**Chapter 5 – Something Rebellious**

**Quote: “There he is. So, you know that thing I told you to do; why don’t you go ahead and get on with it.” Klaus Mikaelson; Vampire Diaries Season 3, Episode 10 (16:36)**

**| Madge |**

“I need to use the bathroom; you keep practicing and I’ll be right back.” I give Kizzie a smile, resting my hand on her shoulder and then stand up from my seat at the piano bench. I have been more than impressed at how fast Kizzie has caught on to the piano. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought she already knew how to play. After only a few weeks, her tiny little fingers dance across the keys to “Heart and Soul” with ease, which always brings a smile to my face. It was the first song I learned how to play with my mother as my teacher when I was just four years old. It was also the song that inspired me to want to learn more about music. With some time and practice, I have no doubt Kizzie will be as skilled, if not better than me by the time she is my age.

As much as I want to hate these people who live in my old house, I don’t. I _can’t_. When I feel the beginnings of those hateful feelings festering inside me, I take a deep breath and remind myself that I met Poppy before my dad died, that time in the tunnels. That it was in fact, my father who introduced us. 

_‘She’s on our side, Madge,’_ I tell myself as I turn the corner to the bathroom. Almost everything in this giant mansion has remained the same, looking almost exactly as it did when I still lived here with my parents. It brings a smile to my face when I see the miniature elephant figurines next to the soap dish; something my mother placed here when I was four years old. Part of me appreciates the continuity; each time I come here . . . it’s like . . . like they’re just within my grasp; but at the same time, it’s also a vivid reminder that I am all alone in this world.

When I’m done and the door to the bathroom clicks shut behind me, my curiosity is piqued from a pair of voices coming from what was once was my dad’s office. I guess it belongs to Poppy now. Wonderment gets the best of me and my feet seem to have a mind of their own as I find myself standing just outside the door that leads into the office.

“Raven honey, you’ve got to stay calm. They’re safe right now . . . or at least while they're on tour. Too many eyes are on Katniss and Peeta, making it impossible for him to do anything that might harm those kids.” Poppy’s voice is so calm and soothing, that even I believe her, and I haven’t a clue what she’s talking about.

“I know Amy, but . . . what’s going to happen when they announce the Quell? Katniss and Peeta are . . . Amy, we’ve got to find them another way out. I’m not sure how much influence I’ll have this year, with all the new changes, but you know as well as I do that it’s too dangerous for them to go in there, they’ll—”

“Baby, stop,” I can’t help it when my lips curve up into a half smile from the pet name Poppy uses when addressing her husband. Her voice is commanding, but in a soft and gentle tone; how she does that, I have no clue. “Honey, please— you’re going to end up making yourself crazy if you don’t relax. You must realize there are **_so_** many on our side willing to sacrifice their own lives to ensure their safety. And— and you know she wants to publicly rescue them. It would be detrimental to interfere with her plans at this stage in the game.”

“Psh— _Game— GAME?_ Amy, this isn’t some _game;_ we’re talking about children’s lives for Christ’s sake! _”_ Raven hisses; his irritation overpowering his usually calm and sensible demeanor. My jaw drops— did he really just— who **_is_** this man? I knew Poppy was on our side, but is Raven also a . . . rebel? I would have never thought he could be a rebel, considering the high status his family has held in the Capitol for generations; and the fact that he’s a sponsor. A rebel disguised as a Sponsor, and a distinguished one at that.

_‘What did you expect Madge, he_ **IS** _married to Poppy,”_ I squirm in place, thinking to myself.

As much as I want to remain hidden behind the door, I know if I don’t return soon Kizzie will come looking for me. So, I silently tiptoe back to the main room, back to my piano. Back to the sweet, innocent little girl in the great room and resume my job of teaching her music.

Holy hell, what did I just stumble into? What about the Quell, and what do Katniss and Peeta have to do with it? Sure, they will be mentors, but . . . but—

“Hey Miss Madge, listen to this,” Kizzie sees me from around the corner and lights up with a radiant smile as she begins to replicate a piece I played for her the other day.

I avert my attention to her; mustering every bit of my willpower to supply her with my complete focus. I can ruminate over the words I overheard later, in the privacy of my own house. My _actual_ home in the Seam. 

“Wow, that’s amazing Kizzie. You know, you have a very artistic ear. Not many people have the ability to play a piece from memory after only hearing it once.” I bluster, which causes her to grin from ear to ear, her confidence boosted.

_Mission accomplished._ I smile, feeling my own sense of pride soar at being the cause of her radiant glow.

_‘Oh, to be young and innocent again,’_ I think to myself, craving the naïveté

that Kizzie possesses.

We spend another hour at the piano and then I try to say my goodbyes. However, Kizzie has other plans.

“Miss Madge, can we please play “Heart and Soul”? It sounds so much better when we do it together,” she begs, giving me those sad and pathetic, yet adorable eyes.

“I don’t know Kizzie—” I begin, flashing my eyes over to the clock on the wall.

“Pleeeaassseee? Just one last time Miss Madge, pretty, pretty please?” Her expression is so dejected that I don’t have the heart to tell her no. Which was probably her plan all along.

“Okay fine,” I tell her, narrowing my eyes with mock contempt before I give her a genuine smile. “ ** _One_** _last_ time and then I have to go,” I tell her, glaring deep into her eyes and holding one finger up. We play our duet and then I bolt out the door before giving her another opportunity to sucker me into staying any longer. Not to mention that after what I overheard in the hallway, I am not ready to face either Poppy or Raven yet. Kizzie promises me that she will have one of her parents pay me double at her next lesson, but at the moment, that is the _last_ thing on my mind.

_I’ve got to get out of here and think. I’ve got to get away and—_ my thoughts race through my head as I run as fast as my legs will carry me until I reach the Seam. I bypass the Hawthorne’s home and head straight into my house. So many questions are running through my head that I don’t even know where to begin.

Okay. _What did they say?_ I ask myself, pacing from one wall to the other. First, Poppy said they were safe. Katniss and Peeta are safe; that one was easy to figure out. ‘ _They’re safe while they are on tour._ ’ That must mean the president cannot harm Katniss and Peeta with so many people watching their every move. 

Okay, Raven said something next. He sounded so worried, scared even for Katniss and Peeta. He said something about the Quell and finding another way out. What does that mean? Another way out of where? _They can’t go in there,_ were his exact words. They can’t go in _where_? And then I wonder where ‘ _there’_ is. Next, Poppy said something about there being people who would _ensure their safety._ Who’s safety? Katniss and Peeta’s? Why would they need protection during the _Quell_ , and from _who_?

I can only assume the _‘she’_ Poppy refers to is the leader from 13. The same one my dad warned me about. _She wants to publicly rescue them._ Rescue them from _what_ — and what does that even _mean_?

My pacing slows as I absorb all the information and then come to a complete stop when it hits me like a ton of bricks. I should have seen it there all along, how could I have been so blind?

The rules for each Quell were supposedly written just after the Games were instituted. But what if that isn’t the case? What if Snow is handcrafting the perfect card for this year’s Quell to eliminate all his problems at once. After Katniss and Peeta’s stunt with the berries, Snow has lost control. And . . . and now, he’s trying to . . . take it back; regain what was lost. What’s that saying my dad used to say? 

_Kill two birds with one stone,_ my father’s words echo in my head. “Holy shit-balls!” I exclaim as all the pieces finally fall into place. Katniss and Peeta will not be mentor’s this year; no, they will be going into the Quell. The Lovestruck Fools of District 12 will make history once more and be tributes two years in a row. This must be Snow’s master plan! It has to be; there just isn’t another explanation.

For over an hour I pace the length of my kitchen and living room. And then I clean. And then I pace some more. There isn’t a single spec of dirt left in my entire house, but I have to keep myself busy; I have to think about everything I just learned. Should I tell anyone? 

I realize there is only one person that I can trust with this information, but he isn’t here. I zip through the house, looking out of each window to make sure no one is coming. Once I am absolutely certain the coast is clear, I draw the curtains and double check that the doors are locked. Then I slide my sofa over to expose the loose plank in the floor and pry it open, retrieving my book from the box in its secret location. And then I replace the plank, slide the couch back over it, but not before double checking the windows one more time. I can never be too sure; because I, for one, would like to make it to my seventeenth birthday.

Plucking the light enhancer from the bridge in my bra, I take a seat at my kitchen table. I click the top of the pen three times to activate the pen in writing mode and then grip it firmly in my hand. Just when the tip of the pen is barely hovering over the page, it begins vibrating.

* * *

**| Katniss |**

I squeeze Peeta’s hand as our train enters the outskirts of District 11. I don’t remember seeing any of this when we made our way to the Capitol for the games six months ago. There are huge, open fields, filled with herds of cattle grazing on the grass. _Poor cows aren’t faring much better than any of us,_ I realize when I see the state of the dead grass they are forced to consume.

As we get closer to 11, my shock grows tenfold when I catch sight of the watchtowers scattered throughout the land; spaced evenly apart with armed guards to man each one. 

Peeta places a finger under my chin, _‘Close your mouth Katniss,_ ’ he warns me, but I can’t help my agape expression, too overwhelmed by the sight in front of me.

_‘And I thought_ **we** _had it bad; 12 is_ **nothing** _like this.’_

In school we learned that District 11 was a large district. But the word **_large_ **doesn’t seem to cut it. There are so many people, hundreds and hundreds, maybe even thousands; with their straw hats on their heads to protect their skin from the sun. And I’m pretty sure this is just a fraction of the district. With it being peak harvest time, I doubt the Capitol would allow everyone the day off, not even for the Victory Tour.

A few minutes later we pass by the orchards, reminding me of Rue and I find myself wondering if those are the trees she once climbed.

_‘Do you think those are the trees she told us about?’_ I know he’s talking about Rue even though he doesn’t say her name; apparently on the same wavelength as I am, or maybe he heard my thoughts. Either way, I don’t answer him, still too overwhelmed by everything I’ve seen up to this point and we haven’t even **_actually_ **entered the district; not officially anyway.

“How do you think they do it? Do you think they have some kind of preliminary drawing for the reapings? That they . . . _pick_ the winners ahead of time?” Peeta asks, just as shocked as I am at all the people we see.

I don’t have time to answer him because the train comes to a stop and waiting for us at the loading dock is a squad of eight peacekeepers.

“Really, you’d think we were all criminals.” Effie huffs, exasperated at the sight of all the peacekeepers in their white suits, not to mention the armored truck they shove us into. It’s just me, Peeta, Haymitch and Effie; the rest of our team is instructed to stay on board, as they will be provided with a device to watch the ceremony from the train.

_‘Not you Effie, just us.’_ Peeta tells me, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

We aren’t in the truck for long when it stops in front of the Justice Building. The peacekeepers guide us inside, and it isn’t long before I smell all the different foods they will be serving at the dinner. We continue walking, following in line with the peacekeepers. No matter how narrow the hallway becomes, I refuse to release my grip on Peeta’s hand. Although, as frightened as I am, I can’t help but be amazed at the same time. I can tell that their Justice Building, a huge, marbled structure was once a building of great beauty, but time and lack of care has not been kind to it.

“This way children, this way,” Effie warbles, gripping her clipboard to her chest and leading us to what she calls the _verandah._ We walk and walk until the roof ends, between the front doors and set of stairs. We reach the top and wait behind a curtain where we listen to 11's mayor addressing his people as he introduces us. I try to remember everything Effie told me; about what to expect and when. I internally groan when it suddenly hits me how important her _schedules_ actually are and make a mental note to be more appreciative of her in the future.

_‘The mayor will read a speech in our honor and then we will respond with a scripted speech. Then we can give our personal thanks, followed by the mayor giving us a plaque. We will smile and wave as we give each other googly-eyes and then head back into the Justice building where we will have dinner and dancing in our honor,’_ Peeta recites Effie’s words back to me, to which I respond by giving him a smile with my eyes.

_‘Thank you. What would I do without you?’_

_‘Not sure, probably get lost,’_ he smirks, causing the corners of my mouth to turn up in a sort of, half-smile.

“Big smiles!” Effie chimes as she pushes us through the curtain and onto the stage.

The sun is shining right in my eyes, but I can still make out the roped off section of a platform near the bottom of the stage reserved for the families of the dead tributes. _Thresh and Rue’s families, I say to myself._ I am overwhelmed from the sun blazing in my eyes and the deafening sound of applause that seems to come from every direction. Out of nowhere, two little girls in pretty pink— matching dresses walk up to me and Peeta and hand us each a bouquet of flowers.

“Thank you.” I tell the little girls, smiling before they walk away. Judging by the befuddled glances they share with each other; this only seems to confuse them. Peeta meets my eyes and just shrugs his shoulders. The mayor finishes his speech and hands the “floor” over to us. It’s time for us to read our card.

Just like we rehearsed, and rehearse we did; a few times with Mom and Dad, with Prim, even Madge was a sounding board for us a few times. Because even before the president visited us, something in our gut told us we had to get this just right.

Peeta and I recite the scripted card the Capitol provided for us and the words are painful on my tongue. Like a lie. Who am I kidding, it _is_ a lie. I can’t even remember the words we are forced to say; something about _honor_ and _peace_ and _proud to serve our country._

_Bullshit. Nothing but lies, lies, lies!_ I’m screaming on the inside.

* * *

| **Peeta |**

“Katniss and I would like to begin by thanking you for welcoming us to your district,” I begin, squeezing Katniss’ hand for support. I feel like a traitor, as if I should be executed right here and now for the things the Capitol is forcing me to say. I can only hope Thresh and Rue’s families can see past the façade and know that I don’t want to say these things; that I do not mean them, that the Capitol is forcing me to recite these atrocious lies.

_‘Yeah, like they had any choice in the matter,’_ Katniss' brazen remark causes me to flash my eyes at her for a moment with a warning glance. I do not need any distractions right now; this is hard enough as it is, with my own voice in my head.

We finish reading the cards with no more facetious comments from Katniss and then it’s time for us to give our personal thanks.

We both knew this wouldn’t be easy, having distinct connections to the former tributes of 11; me with Rue and Katniss with Thresh. They were our allies after all. Not only that but we were both present when our friends died. I held sweet, tiny Rue in my arms, painting her a beautiful image of the perfect life for her as she drew her final breaths. And then, I decorated her in an array of flowers and weeds just before the hovercraft came to retrieve her body.

Why did I do that? What possessed me to do something of that caliber? Never in the history of the games has an opposing district expressed any kind of remorse from the death of a tribute from another district, allies or not. The pain from her death still feels so fresh, so vivid. And it only amplifies each time I recall the memory of holding Rue in my arms as she breathed her final breaths. And then . . . I felt nothing but pure unadulterated hatred at the sound of her cannon. I wanted . . . I wanted . . . if I am being completely honest with myself, I wanted to hold ‘ _them’_ accountable for her death. For what _they_ did, for what they made me do. I wanted everyone, not just the Capitol but everyone in Panem to see how Rue’s death affected me so. I wanted them to feel it too. The pain inside was eating me alive and I needed to share it with someone, anyone.

And then there was Katniss with Thresh. She did the same, I guess. But I think what she did probably moved so many people, one-hundred times compared to my actions. 

Suddenly, I see a flash of pink, most likely a reflection from the sun, but for some reason, it reminds me of Effie, and thus, reminds me of our short conversation just before we were pushed onto the stage.

_“Now remember my darlings, no one will hold it against you if you choose to stand by the Capitol scripted speeches. But . . . well, since strong, proud, Thresh, and sweet, kind Rue were allies of yours, if you feel compelled to say a few rewarding comments for your thanks, well— you know what I mean. Go on, go on, you’ll do great. Haymitch and I will meet you after!”_

_“You’ll do fine sweetheart,” Haymitch assured Katniss, most likely sensing her tension. As if we weren’t stressed out and overwhelmed enough, he added, “Oh, and after the dinner, one of the families has requested an audience with you.” I instantly felt Katniss freeze up from his words._

_“What did you say?” She asked, needing clarification._

_“Go on. You and Peeta have a show to put on,” Haymitch dismisses her, shoving us onto the verandah; causing me to wonder if he knows something._

Thinking about Effie and Haymitch’s words to us, I reach into my pocket for the card containing my _‘personal thanks_ ’, but at the last minute I change my mind. It was as if Haymitch and Effie _wanted_ us to speak our truths. I glance over to Katniss and squeeze her hand; I truly hope she will forgive me.

“I didn’t know Thresh all that well, we only spent that first day together. But in that small amount of time, I knew that if we had met under different circumstances, he would have been someone I would have liked to have been friends with. Even though he threatened me when he first saw me, I knew it was only to protect Rue. I would have done the exact same if our roles had been reversed.” I inhale a refreshing breath just as Katniss gives my hand a little squeeze, urging me to continue.

“Thresh . . . he was brave, he refused to play the Games by anyone’s rules but his own and I respected that about him.”

I grip onto Katniss’ hand a little tighter and then fill my lungs up with oxygen as I fight back the tears pricking my eyes. “But Rue; she was my friend. She helped me and Katniss escape the careers, pulled us to safety and nursed us back to health. She could have left us there to die and won the games right then and there, but she didn’t.” I turn my body, pulling Katniss along with me and look into the eyes of Rue’s entire family before I continue. Wanting, no, needing them to see the genuine sincerity in my eyes. 

“Katniss and I are standing here today, only because of the beautiful, amazing and courageous daughter you raised; were raising. She was kind and she was thoughtful,” I pause for a second, squeezing Katniss’ hand once more and pulling her even closer, soaking up any courage she has to offer as I continue.

“I know this in no way makes up for the loss of your children, but as a token of our thanks, Katniss and I would like for each of the tributes families of District 11 to receive one month of our winnings for the duration of our lives. Thank you.” I finish with a nod of my head, afraid to meet anyone's eyes.

* * *

**| Gale |**

“God-dammit, what the hell is her _problem_?!” I shout, slamming the toe of my boot into the trunk of a tree. “FUCK!” My voice echoes through the empty forest. When Vick said he saw Rye Mellark of all people walking into Madge’s house . . . I don’t know, something inside me just snapped. I could feel my blood boiling as I pictured the fucker pushing Madge up against the wall, slamming his mouth against hers and ramming his tongue down her throat. I’m not jealous, no— that’s not it. I was just warning her. Madge is too trusting sometimes.

When I can no longer feel my toes, whether from the frigid temperatures or from kicking the tree, I figure it’s time to go home. I’m not ready to face my mother, but she’ll worry if I’m not back soon. Madge normally helps Ma with dinner but judging from the way she threw me out of her house the other night, I doubt I’ll see her anytime soon. I don’t know, maybe I _should_ apologize.

“Hell no, forget that!” Although no one is listening, it feels good to stretch my vocal cords. “I’m not apologizing, Madge is the one who is wrong.”

I open the door to my house and smile when Posie runs to me, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck. I pick her up and swing her around once before setting her back down. Within minutes of being inside my toes begin tingling from the warmth of the house and I wiggle them inside my socks. And the house smells so good. Like . . . like some kind of stew and . . . freshly baked bread. I look over to the kitchen and freeze in place when I see those golden curls bouncing in its usual ponytail. Madge.

_‘Well good. I bet she came here to apologize,’_ I think cockily to myself as I watch her and Ma whispering to each other while they stand over the hot stove. Even though I am mad at her, it warms my heart to see them together. But then, I’m not mad at her anymore; seeing her blend with my family so seamlessly melts all my anger away. 

Madge is amazing, maybe the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. If this were Catnip, she’d refuse to come over and avoid me for days, maybe even weeks. But not Madge. I wonder if she is aware of how much she means to my family, and decided she wasn’t going to let our fight interfere with her relationship with them. This girl . . . she is incredible.

I walk over to the sink and wash my hands. Then, I shake the excess water off before drying the rest on a towel. Casually, I sidestep next to Ma and place a kiss on her cheek.

“You’re home late, is everything okay?” Ma asks me. Madge’s blue eyes flash up to mine, burning with rage; and my god is she sexy when she’s mad.

“Yeah, I just . . . needed some air.” Okay, so apparently Madge didn’t tell Ma about our fight. “Uh, Madge, can I talk to you for a minute . . . privately?”

“We’re cooking right now Gale. Maybe after dinner if there’s time.” She snaps at me. Shit, she’s mad. I’ve got to talk to her and make her see reason.

Madge interacts with my family as if nothing is amiss, smiling and nodding to me at all the appropriate times, but refuses to speak to me. Once dinner is over, she helps clean up, reads Posie a bedtime story and then rushes out the door to go home. Okay, clearly, she doesn’t want to talk to me right now.

Fine! If she wants to be stubborn, two can play at that game.

Once all the kids are in bed, it’s just me and Ma in the living room.

“So, what’s going on with you and Madge? I couldn’t help but notice some tension between you two tonight.” I’m sitting on the couch, slumped over with my elbows digging into my knees as I hide my face in my hands.

“I’m sure she already told you everything, so go ahead, take her side.” I grumble through my hands.

“Actually Gale, she didn’t say anything.” I snap my head up to meet Ma’s eyes.

“She didn’t?” Ma shakes her head.

“So, what happened?”

“Well . . . it was the other day . . . I got home from work and Vick told me he saw Rye Mellark at her house. And um . . . I told her he was bad news, that she shouldn’t have him over.”

“Did you tell her, in your opinion, that it wasn’t a good idea, or did you _demand_ that she not have him over there?”

“She _did_ talk to you, didn’t she?”

“No Gale, she didn’t. But you have a tendency to be a little um . . . _demanding_ at times _._ And . . . I like to think I’ve gotten to know Madge pretty well over the last few months, and . . . maybe I’m going out on a limb here, but I don’t see Madge as the type of girl who takes kindly at being told what to do.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” I mumble.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Ma implores, inching a little closer.

“So, you’re taking her side?” I ask defensively, not wanting to repeat myself.

“No, that’s not what I am saying. What I am _trying_ to say is that maybe you should talk to her, have a calm, reasonable conversation, and maybe you should just tell her how you feel. If Rye is a bad guy and you’re just worried for her safety, then tell her that. But if you're, oh, I don’t know, _jealous;_ then perhaps you should tell her that too.” 

“I am **_NOT_ **jealous. Of _that_ jerk; yeah right.” I huff, storming out of the living room and into my room. Vick and Rory are sleeping together on the bottom bunk of their beds, as usual, which causes a smile to form on my lips when I see them curled up into each other.

* * *

**| Katniss |**

You would never know how nervous Peeta is from the expression he wears; he is a vision of strength, bravery and courage. I only know how scared and nervous he is because . . . because, well, I _know_ him.

My eyes are trained on him, silent tears streaming down my face. There are gasps and whispers in the audience. Never in the history of the games has a victor _ever_ offered any amount of their winnings away. I couldn’t love him more in this moment than I do. Yet, I _do_. He never ceases to amaze me. With each word that comes out of his mouth, I love him more and more. 

As sharp as the pain cuts my heart, and Peeta’s heart too, I know that we’re doing it. We’re doing what President Snow wants, we’re proving our love for the other in front of all of Panem. Or, at least, I hope so. I know it’s unconventional, and probably not at all what President Snow expected, but if he and everyone else cannot see the love emanating from my body, then nothing is going to show them.

I cannot even wrap my mind around how much money “one month of our winnings” actually is. Unable to deal with much else when I first came home, I pawned the responsibility of my winnings off to my parents, but even I know that one month of a victor’s earnings could easily feed a family of four, or even more, for at least a year. Although there is nothing that could ever replace Thresh and Rue to their families, we just changed their lives for all times. As long as Peeta and I live, they will not hunger.

Of all the times we rehearsed our speeches, this was not in a single one of them. Which leads me to believe that this was a spontaneous decision he made. I even remember on a few occasions, overhearing Peeta running his speeches by Effie, her wanting to make sure he said all the right things. I wonder if she knew about this and then think better of it. If **_I_** didn’t know about it, I seriously doubt he would have confided in her; on the off chance that she would have told him no.

_‘I’m sorry Katniss, I know this wasn’t what we talked about, but . . . it just felt like the right thing to do.’_ I squeeze Peeta’s hand in a show of support just as a deafening applause erupts from the crowd followed by the mayor returning to the stage and handing us each a plaque. It is so big, I have to set my flowers down on an empty chair. 

When I resume my position by Peeta’s side, I see Thresh’s family, his sister glaring at me. Even though the money was a lovely gesture, she is not happy. Is she mad at me? I didn’t kill Thresh, so why— but then it hits me; she wants to hear what I have to say. After what I did for him in the arena, if I remain silent now, then it means nothing.

“Wait—” I shout.

“Please . . . wait, I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District 11.” I say, squeezing the plaque against my chest. Even though our allotted time is over the mayor gives me a kind smile and nods, extending his arm out in an offer to hold my plaque while I step up to the center of the stage. My eyes meet Peeta’s, pleading with him to accompany me. I absolutely can NOT do this without him by my side.

I squeeze Peeta’s hand even tighter, facing Rue’s family first. “Rue; I . . . I didn’t know her as well as Peeta did, but I cherished the short time I did spend with her. She was kind, sweet, compassionate and a nurturer at heart. But Rue— she reminds me of everything beautiful. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the meadow near my house. I hear her in the mockingjay’s that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my little sister. From the first moment I saw her, when they called her name at the reaping; I saw my sister in her. She was a beautiful girl, inside and out, and it wasn’t fair that she died. I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.” One of Rue’s sister’s gives me a smile and I return it, wiping the tear from my cheek as I prepare myself to face Thresh’s family.

“I wish we could have found Thresh after the tracker jacker’s nest fell. He was a great person. And like Peeta, I respected him from the moment I first met him, when the career’s invited him into their alliance and he refused. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, I really wanted to. He loved Rue like a sister. I think . . . I think I understood him; I saw myself in his fierce determination to protect Rue. And he loved his family; he adored his “Pretty Penny.” He told me so on many occasions.” I look at the little girl standing next to Thresh’s mother, most likely Penny. I do a double take, my eyes landing back on the woman I think is Thresh’s mother and wonder if her name is Roberta.

_No, it couldn’t possibly be, it was just a dream Katniss._ I chide silently, urging myself to continue.

“Thresh was a model of bravery and courage. If only half the people in the world aspired to be even remotely as brave and courageous as Thresh was, I think the world could be a happier place. After we came home, Peeta told me how Thresh saved him at the feast. That Thresh refused to come back with him, insisting that Peeta hurry back to me with my medicine, with a promise to hold Cato off. He sacrificed his life for us, and for that, I . . . we can never repay that debt.” I pause for a second, turning my head to meet Peeta’s eyes, and then it’s as if someone takes over my body as I take a deep breath and open my mouth. And then . . . it’s like I am not in control of my body as the words escape my lips. And it’s like . . . almost as if Thresh is standing next to me, whispering into my ear because I have never heard these lyrics before.

_Ooh-ooh-ooh_

_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh_

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Way up high_

_And the dreams that you dream of_

_Once in a lullaby, oh_

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Mockingjays fly_

_And the dreams that you dream of_

_Dreams really do come true-ooh-ooh_

_Someday I'll wish upon a star_

_Wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

_Where trouble melts like lemon drops_

_High above the chimney tops that's where_

_You'll find me, oh_

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Mockingjays fly_

_And the dream that you dare to_

_Oh why, oh why can't I? I_

_Someday I'll wish upon a star_

_Wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

_Where trouble melts like lemon drops_

_High above the chimney top that's where you'll find me_

_Oh, somewhere over the rainbow way up high_

_And the dream that you dare to_

_Why, oh why can't I? I_

_Ooh-ooh-ooh_

_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh_

_Ooh-ooh_

_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh_

_Ooh-ah-ah-eh-ah_

_Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah_

“That’s all; thank you for your children and thank you for sending Peeta the bread.” I tell everyone after an awkward moment of silence.

* * *

**| Cinna |**

Portia and I, along with both of our teams are huddled in what we have named the “Star Car”, the car at the far end of the train, the one with the windows that disappear into the ceiling as we watch the ceremony from the little hand-held device the peacekeeper’s supplied us with.

“Our Girl on Fire has impeccable talent,” I whisper to Portia who has tears in her eyes from the song Katniss sang.

“That’s all; thank you for your children and thank you for sending Peeta the bread.” Katniss smiles, letting everyone know she is done.

“What was that? Did someone just whistle?” Artemis asks when we hear the familiar four-note tune from our kids’ time in the arena. The camera scans the audience until it zooms in on an old man. He wears a faded red shirt with overalls, looking as if he will probably return to work once the show is over.

And then, what happens next cannot be a coincidence as it happens in almost perfect synchronicity; everyone kisses the first three fingers of their left hand and extends their arm out. I distinctly recall seeing this action performed by the citizens of 12 at Katniss and Peeta’s reaping, in addition to seeing the pair performing this act as separate entities when both Rue and Thresh died in the arena. It is some type of gesture of either thank you, or goodbye; or perhaps both.

Portia’s head snaps up, her eyes locking on mine, the fear for this man’s life prevalent in her expression. “This is not good,” she mouths to me.

“Well, this is what Haymitch wanted, for them to be their own person,” I whisper into Portia’s ear.

“I’m not quite certain this is what he was referring to, I don’t think he was expecting them to be so . . . moving.”

Portia and I watch the kids, the fear is discernable in their eyes as well. Katniss looks as if she knows something bad just happened, and she wishes to do something, say something— anything to neutralize the situation. However, they are ushered off the stage and the mayor takes over.

I’m sure she only wished to give her thanks, to truly, genuinely show the families of the deceased tributes how deep her grief runs, but I fear she and Peeta, together, have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of 11. After the events of today, there is no going back; not that there was before anyway.

I can’t help but remember my time in 13 and how adamant Coin was that the strong-willed, stubborn, defiant girl from 12 would be well worth our time. And as much as I despise the woman and everything she stands for; I can’t help but think she was right. Except she forgot one thing: Peeta. When you put them together, they create something beautiful, something exceptional; something rebellious.

Katniss and Peeta are ushered off the stage, but I keep the device gripped firmly in my hands. 

“Cinna?” Portia says and I give a slight shake of my head. I have a very bad feeling about what is to come, just as Portia does.

I have no doubt that the live feed to the districts has been severed, but we have devices that belong in 11, which means we see the entire scene play out before us.

Hand in hand, Katniss and Peeta re-emerge onto the stage just in time to see the peacekeepers dragging the old man; the same one who whistled onto the front of the stage. The old man is frail, probably in his seventies, yet it takes four peacekeepers to slam him to his knees. I’m sure their dragging him to the exact spot Katniss and Peeta were standing only mere moments ago was no accident, as one of the white-uniformed guards pulls his gun out, pressing the barrel to the old man’s forehead—

“Nooo!” Portia inadvertently shouts, pulling herself into my arms and burying her face in my shoulder.

Katniss is screaming hysterically, “NO! WHAT— WHY— He was— he was just remembering Rue!” As she attempts to run to the man while Peeta holds her back. They disappear back through the curtain and the peacekeepers drag two more innocent souls to the center of the stage.

It is not a moment too soon before their lives are ended, sharing the same fate as the old man.

* * *

**| Haymitch |**

“I know this in no way makes up for the loss of your children, but as a token of our thanks, Katniss and I would like for each of the tributes families of District 11 to receive one month of our winnings for the duration of our lives. Thank you.” I cannot help the smile that forms on my lips when I hear the boy’s words through the speaker. I turn when I hear Effie gasp in shock and see her hand secured firmly over her mouth.

“C-can he do that?”

I chuckle and say, “I don’t know but he just did.” The word _proud_ does not even begin to describe the insurmountable waves of joy that soars through my body at his words. _Damn, he’s good,_ I think to myself as Effie stands nervously, trembling as she listens to the ceremony.

_‘Take that Snow!’_ I silently smirk, and then, _‘Up yours!’_

The applause coming from the tiny handheld speaker in my hands makes me think the ceremony is over and a pang of disappointment washes through me when I don’t hear any comments from the girl. Surely, she’s not going to let their deaths go un-thanked; it’s just not in her nature. Victor or not, her Seam pride runs deep; _Yeah, I would be one to know._

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, the tiny device in my hand projects the girls voice, “Wait! Please . . . wait, I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District 11.” 

She thanks both families, basically a replica of the boy’s words, adding a few personal comments about Thresh’s sister. And then she does something completely out of character; she sings. It’s a beautiful song, something about rainbows, mockingjay’s, dreams and lemons. It’s not a song native to 12, or maybe it is, and I’ve just never heard it; but wherever it came from, it’s beautiful. 

“Damn. Sweetheart’s got pipes.” I blurt out, causing Effie’s face to contort into a fierce scowl.

“Please Haymitch. Must you be so vulgar every waking moment of your day?” She nearly growls at me.

“That’s all, thank you for your children, and thank you for sending Peeta the bread.” Sweetheart says once her song is over.

“Come on Trinkie, let’s head out so we can meet them.” Effie follows me down the hallway until we’re in the room we were instructed to wait for our victor’s in. Effie jumps and grabs onto my hand, startled by the sound of a gunshot we hear in the distance. Heat flashes through my body, my heart speeding up from the anticipation. 

“What the hell?” I mumble, looking all around hoping I don’t find my kids lying dead somewhere.

“Do you think something is wrong? They should have returned by now.” Effie asks after patiently waiting for the kids to get back. Finally, I catch sight of the white uniformed guards coming around the corner and then see they are following closely behind my kids and I don’t like it. Nor do I miss the terrified expressions painting Katniss and Peeta’s faces, and I sure as hell don’t like how close those damn peacekeepers are. Something’s wrong, something isn’t right, I can just feel it. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when the white-uniformed peacekeepers shove the kids in the room with us and slams the door behind them.

They look utterly terrified.

“What happened?” Effie asks, prancing over to the kids with a smile on her face but I’m pretty sure she’s already figured it out. That woman is a hell of a lot smarter than I ever gave her credit for, not that I’ll admit it though. Not out loud, anyway.

“Nothing Effie, a truck backfired, is all,” Peeta lies to Effie. And then we hear two more gunshots.

“Come on, you two with me. _NOW.”_ I demand, grabbing the boys arm and dragging them into the next room. I rip the mics from their shirts and stuff them under a couch cushion. Just like the last time I was here, I lead the four of us up a magnificent curved, marble staircase that opens up into a long corridor, the carpet still looks as worn as it did the last time I saw it.

Twenty-five years later and I still remember the way. _‘It’s not like you could ever forget,’_ I remind myself, recalling the harrowing events that followed. I glance over my shoulder when I hear the _click, clack_ of Effie’s six-inch-high heels clicking against the floor, to see that she’s lagging behind.

“Give me your shoes,” I assert once she’s caught up with us. She doesn’t question me; no smart-ass remarks about improper blah, blah, blah, she just hands them over. Using the boy’s shoulder to keep her balance steady, she removes her shoes, one at a time. I take her shoes, stuffing them into the pockets of my jacket as we continue our trek. Finally, we enter a pair of opened double doors. The ceiling must be at least twenty feet high with designs of fruit and a variety of flowers carved into the walls. And then there are the chubby little winged babies staring at us from every which way, kind of giving me the creeps.

One look in this room and you can see it has clearly been prepared for the kids, but I just keep walking; every few seconds looking back to make sure everyone is still following close behind. We go through a maze of staircases and hallways until finally, we reach the trap door. I push the door aside and we ascend the ladder, and then at last, we are in the dome of the Justice Building. It looks as if no one has been here since my last visit, I think I even recognize some of the broken furniture and rusty weapons. Once Katniss, Peeta and Effie are all safely inside, I turn to my kids and say, “What happened?”

I notice the confused glances the kids share regarding Effie’s presence and then the girl opens her mouth to speak, but her words seem to get stuck in her throat. The realization of everything must have just hit her because in no time, she is hysterical.

“Oh my god, oh my god, what did I do, what did we do? They killed him; the peacekeepers killed that man! President Snow— he’s going to— oh god, we didn’t do what he said, oh my god, oh my god!” One right after the other, the words just tumble out of her mouth.

I shake my head in confusion, trying to make sense of her words. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, slow down. Who did the peacekeepers kill? And what about President Snow? What the hell is going on?”

“We . . . we got that man killed!” Katniss is still frantic, so the boy takes over.

“I said my thanks, and then . . . we were about to leave, but . . . and then— Katniss said hers too.” I roll my hand in a motion for him to hurry up and get on with it, because I already know all this. “She sang a song to remember Thresh; and then— the man— he whistled Rue’s four-note tune. We were ushered off stage and then Katniss remembered she forgot her flowers. That’s when we saw it— the peacekeeper’s had the man on his knees in front of everyone with a gun to his forehead . . . and then . . . that’s when we heard— saw the gunshot— they killed him.” Peeta explains to me, clearly still shaken up.

“Oh heavens!” Effie exclaims, using her hand to conceal her shocked expression.

“What are you not telling me?” The boy looks down to his prosthesis and then back to me, as if to remind me about the bug in his leg.

“Doesn’t work anymore.”

“Are you sure?” He inquires with a lift of his brow.

“Positive. Got confirmation from someone on the inside,” I assure him.

And then he tells us everything. About Snow’s visit to them and his demands. About sweetheart promising to calm the districts. About his threat to Prim and the rest of their families. The more he speaks, the angrier I become. I reach inside my jacket pocket for my flask only to find it empty.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I press, glaring at him; if I had all the information, I wouldn’t have been so adamant about them disregarding the cards; maybe.

“I— I meant to; I was . . . I was planning to stop by your house after I left the bakery, but I . . . got sidetracked. And then . . . there wasn’t time.”

“What the hell was so important to make you forget about something like _this?_ ”

“I um . . . I had a little _run in_ with my mother,” The boy explains contritely, but he doesn’t need to say any more. I feel my features soften as I place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry kid,” is all I say.

Somehow, I find myself pacing back and forth as I try to wrap my head around everything. I wanted the kids to speak from their hearts, but I didn’t imagine _this_ happening. I didn’t think their words would cause this much movement. This is good . . . _and_ this is bad.

“This is all my fault . . . if I hadn’t offered the money . . . if I had just read the cards like I was supposed to . . .” the boy begins.

“No, Peeta, it was my fault. I . . . I shouldn’t have sung the song. Then, that man wouldn’t have whistled, and then—”

“No Peeta, it was me, Snow told me—”

“STOP IT!” Effie thunders out of nowhere. She had been so quiet, I almost forgot she was here. “My apologies for the outburst, but the two of you are being rather fallacious,” she says politely, inching herself a little closer to the kids.

“What?” They reply in unison, followed by a, “Huh?”

“President Snow would have found an excuse— any excuse to go back on his word to you,” she turns to face Peeta and rests her hand on his shoulder with a gentle smile. “There is no way in Panem that he would allow the two of you to live your lives out of the Capitol’s grasp. You’re much too valuable to him. Not having the only pair of victor’s at the Quarter Quell their first year as mentors would be like admitting you two had pulled one over on him. Trust me when I say not only will the two of you be at those Games, but you will also be the stars of the show.”

She pauses for a moment, turning to Katniss with that same gentle smile. “First of all, Katniss, my beautiful girl, you sing like an angel. That was the most captivating thing I think I may have ever heard.”

“Um . . . thanks,” Sweetheart squirms in place, uncomfortable from the compliment.

“But Katniss darling, I know you are worried for the safety of your sister, but . . . hmmm,” Effie humms, placing her hand up to her chin, thinking.

“How shall I phrase this? There was this saying, long, long ago, that says, “You don’t make deals with the devil,” and another one that goes, “We do not negotiate with terrorists.” You cannot trust that man with any promises he has made, he was only telling you what you wanted to hear. Asking you to placate the districts . . . I fear he is just trying to keep you . . . us _busy_ ; with what, that is to be determined.”

She turns back to Peeta, “And you; asking you not to be who you are is simply preposterous; as if asking the sun not to shine and Snow knows it. He is simply trying to play you against each other, and you cannot allow that to happen. Now, there will be no more secrets, is that clear? Secrets are a great way to get your loved ones killed.” She affirms, taking a step back so that she can make eye contact with all of us and says, “Now, is there anything else we need to get out in the open?” She insinuates, glancing back and forth between me and the boy.

“Perhaps something pertaining to a prior obligation from the arena?” She finishes and I immediately know what she’s talking about. Shit. She’s not really going to bring that up, is she? Effie crosses her arms and taps her toe against the floor. And even though her shoes are still in my pocket, for some reason, I can still hear the condescending ‘ _tap-tap’_ sound in my head.

The boy must know what she is getting at as well, because he’s averting his eyes down to his shoes, which causes the girl to tense up.

“What _about_ the arena? What did _you do?_ ” She demands, gritting her teeth and glaring into my eyes.

“Not Haymitch, me. I um . . . I made Haymitch promise me that if something happened . . . if anything changed and he couldn’t get both of us out of there, to promise me that he would make sure you got out of there.”

“You did **_WHAT_** _?”_ Sweetheart yells at the boy, glaring daggers at him and the phrase, ‘ _If looks could kill,’_ comes to mind.

“I’m sorry Katniss, I just wanted . . . I had to make sure you made it back home.”

There is an uncomfortable silence and I wonder if the kids are doing their ‘ _silent talking’_ thing again. Effie’s eyes meet mine in a questioning glare and I wonder if she’s beginning to pick up on their silent form of communication.

“Now, is there anything else anyone would like to get out in the open?” Effie chirps and then everyone is shaking their heads from side to side.

“Okay then, I suggest we get out of here before our absence goes unnoticed and they send a search party after us.”

Just before we reach the trapdoor, Effie stops us and says in a hushed whisper, “It goes without saying that none of us saw what happened to that man today.” Shocked by her words, the kid's eyes snap up to Effie’s.

“Do I make myself clear?” She asks them, to which they respond with a sharp nod of their heads. “Good, let’s go. Oh, and Haymitch, would you be so kind as to return my shoes to me once we reach the bottom of this contraption.”

* * *

**| Rye |**

“Son, what are you doing here at this hour?” Dad opens the door to Peeta’s house, his eyes wide with bewilderment. Rightfully so, since it’s the wee hours of the night.

“Dad, I— I can’t stay there anymore, I don’t want to, I can’t stand her!” I tell my father and he widens the door for me to enter. He invites me inside and I toss my bag in the foyer on our way to the kitchen table. Dad grabs some cups from the cabinet and pours us each a glass of tea.

“Of course, you can stay here, but what happened?” Dad is staying at Peeta’s house while he waits for his dwelling to be ready, and for the divorce to get finalized. I add a few sugar cubes to my tea and stir them around while I think about where to begin. When I gave Dad the key to Peeta’s, he invited me to stay with him. I should have just come right then, but I don’t know . . . I guess I felt guilty for leaving my mother all alone in our house. I take a sip of my tea and wait for it to warm my body, and then I tell him everything.

I start with my run in with Madge the day she gave me Peeta’s key. I don’t leave a single detail out, including my suspicions about something larger at play here.

_As I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to shut my mind off from the day’s events, my head perks up when I hear voices downstairs. I already knew one of the voices belonged to Mother, but I wanted to know who she was talking to this late at night. So, I tiptoed down the stairs._

_I didn’t even need to place my ear against the door when I heard, “Why is it that all I ever seem to hear is Peeta, Peeta, Peeta? Peeta this, and Peeta that, and oh; let’s not forget about that Seam tramp, Katniss he’s always with.”_

_That’s when I heard a man’s voice, and I immediately recognized it as my brother, Graham. It’s been ages since he’s been to the bakery, so to say I was shocked to hear his voice was definitely an understatement._

_“I know Mom, I’m sorry. I still can’t believe he said all that stuff to Katniss in that little ‘_ love nest’ _of theirs in the games.”_

_Their words caused my stomach to sour; my dinner threatening to come back up. I hate it when they trash talk Peeta_.

_“It’s sickening, that’s what it is. Your father and Rye— they’re sucked in and believe that boys lies. Well, at least I have you.” Mother says and I can just picture her pulling him in for a hug and kissing the top of his head. Graham: the golden son who, in Mother’s eyes, can do no wrong._

_I couldn’t take it anymore, I was so sick of the two of them constantly ganging up on Peeta, not to mention Dad. I burst through the doors, catching them at the table with a platter of what looked like sliced French bread, and from the pleasant aromas wafting up my nose, there was no denying that it was fresh._

_Narrowing my eyes, I glared at them accusingly, “The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves. First of all, every word Peeta said in that cave was true and you know it. The two of you are playing the victim and that’s just despicable. Peeta was in the Games; you know, that place where you fight to the death. And instead of being proud and relieved that your son made it home, that 12 got not one, but TWO victor’s for the first time, you are punishing him for things that were completely out of his control! Both of you sicken me— if you want people to stop gawking at you, maybe you should confess to your wrong-doings. And . . . and I don’t doubt for a second that Peeta would happily share his wealth with you if you didn’t treat him like a scab on your knee.” I paused for a moment so that I could get right up in Graham’s face._

_“And you— how can you be so blind to this woman’s abuse all these years. Where do you think Peeta got all those blackened eyes? The sprained wrists, the twisted ankles, and all those **burns**. He sure as hell didn’t get it from being clumsy, or from wrestling. If you can’t see what’s right in front of you, then you’re dumber than I ever gave you credit for.”_

_“Rye—” Graham begins, but I hold my hand up to stop him. No, I didn’t want to hear any more of his or Mother’s lame excuses._

_“No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m outta here.” I exclaim, racing out of the kitchen and into my room to pack up._

“And well— well . . . and now I’m here.” I look up to meet my dad’s eyes and he looks more worried than I’ve ever seen him before.

“Rye, I . . . come on son, let's take a walk. There is something I should probably tell you,” Dad says, guiding us down the stairs.

* * *

**| Katniss |**

We find our way back to the Justice Building and it’s as if we never left. No one seems to be looking for us, which I guess is a good thing. Peeta and I mingle with the important people of 11 at Haymitch’s behest. We are swaying to the music in the middle of the dance floor when someone pulls us to the side. I think Haymitch said his name was Chaff.

“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Mellark,” the man says, dragging Peeta away.

“It’s okay Miss Everdeen— Katniss, if you will follow me,” the woman— she looks oddly familiar tells me, and for some reason I trust her. Her eyes are kind and her voice gentle.

My instincts should be emitting a “fear” signal, but I know that Haymitch trusts these people, so I decide to go with it. She leads us through a maze, unlike the one Haymitch took us through earlier, but somehow, we end up back at that same trapdoor; I wonder how Haymitch even knew about it in the first place? Did someone bring _him_ here on _his_ Victory Tour?

“KATNISS!” Peeta shouts my name the moment the door is shut and I find myself back in the safety of his arms.

Once we pull away from our embrace, the relief of laying our eyes on each other passing, I glare at Haymitch, seething with anger and demand, “What the hell is going on?” 

“Sorry sweetheart, it was the only way to get you both out of there unnoticed, and at the same time. You guys remember Seeder and Chaff, my ole’ buddies.” Haymitch begins, placing an arm over Chaff’s shoulder. 

It all comes crashing back to me, Seeder visiting me in the hospital when I first woke up from the arena. “And this here,” Haymitch pauses, placing a gentle hand on the woman next to Seeder, “is—”

“What a pleasure it is to meet you Katniss and Peeta, I’m Roberta—” She says, extending her hand out to Peeta. 

“R- Ro— are y-you— Th- Thresh’s mother?” I don’t mean to cut her off; I am just . . . wildly astonished. Peeta accepts her hand, giving it a firm shake, followed with a bemused expression. 

Can it— no, it’s not possible, it must be a coincidence. I am half expecting Roberta to extend her hand to me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she engulfs me in a hug, and instantly, I tense up even more.

“Yes, how did you know? Better yet, how did you know about my boy’s favorite song?”

That’s when I remember Haymitch saying the families requested an audience with us; this must be ‘ _that.’_

“I— I don’t know. I had this dream, and then when I was up there— on the s-stage and I— I just . . . I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.” I stumble through my explanation, confounded and bewildered; unsure if it even makes any sense.

Surprisingly, she nods as if she understands and then I notice Haymitch pulling Chaff and Seeder to the side to give us some privacy and for a moment, I wonder if Rue’s family is somewhere nearby.

“Katniss, will you please tell me of your dream? What did my Threshie say to you?”

_‘She asks you as if he was really there; do you think—’_ Peeta silently inquires, amused by her persistence.

_‘I don’t know, I mean . . . maybe?’_

If someone had asked me this question a year ago, I would have written them off as certifiable. But Peeta and I talk to each other in our heads; if that’s possible, then . . . _maybe._

“I don’t know, it was all so fast and confusing. We were—” I pause as I try to retain the memory of my dream. “We were in . . . it was like a meadow or something, but it smelled like—”

“Apples?” Roberta speculates with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

_How does she know so much?_ I wonder and then force my attention back to Roberta. “Yeah, apples. And it was beautiful; so beautiful, it was . . . absolutely breathtaking. The trees were endless and seemed to stretch for miles and miles on end. And Thresh— he was so excited to see me and . . . he looked good. No, he looked better than good, he looked great; happy, healthy, almost glowing. He um—” I pause, placing my finger up to my chin as I try to recall what happened next, not wanting to leave out a single detail.

“He invited me to sit with him on a bench. He asked me to find you, and said it was really important that I find you and that your name was Roberta and to tell you . . . I hope this makes more sense to you than it does to me, but he said he found the rainbow—” I spit the words out dubiously, almost afraid that I sound insane. But Roberta’s eyes glisten with so much hope, clasping her hands together, a smile on her face as a tear glides down her cheek; this obviously means something to her.

“H-he found the rainbow and it’s more beautiful than he imagined— or maybe than you said, or described— I’m sorry, I wrote it down, but I left it in my other shirt.” I admit to her apologetically.

Roberta closes the distance between us and pulls me into another hug. “And the song? Where do you know that song from?” She beseeches, soaking up my every word.

“I— I don’t know. I just . . . after I said my thanks, I just . . . I don’t know, it’s like something else took over me. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard those lyrics before in my life. Have you . . . do _you_ know that song?”

Roberta nods, the tears still glistening in her eyes, “Yes, it was Threshie’s favorite song as a little boy.”

“And . . . my dream, it made sense to you? You know what my ‘ _Dream Thresh’_ meant about the rainbow and its colors?”

“Yes, dear. You see, a long time ago, a time before the Dark Days, there was this thing called ‘ _religion’,”_ I nod, giving her my full and undivided attention. I recognize the word, remembering it being said in school a few times. “There were many different ones, but the basis of it was belief in a higher power; that once your physical body completed its journey on Earth,”

_‘Earth, Earth, where have I heard that word before?’_ I ask myself while trying to follow along with Roberta’s words.

_‘It’s what Panem was called before the Dark Days,’_ Peeta informs me.

“That your _soul_ moves into a place called ‘ _Heaven.’_ Heaven was believed to be a magical place, but more than that, it was _perfect,_ divinity at its best. It was warm and inviting and everything you always wanted. There was no war, only peace and happiness. It was beautiful and miraculous. I used to tell Threshie, mostly to ease his fear of the games, that when a person died a rainbow would appear. The colors so beautiful, so alluring, drawing you toward it. You could not help but be compelled to walk into it, it’s warmth so inviting. And once you made it to the rainbow, all of your friends and loved ones who have already made their own journey there would be waiting for you, inviting you to join them where you would spend eternity together. I used to explain the magnificent colors to him, so I think . . . I think it means that Threshie has found peace.”

_‘This ‘_ heaven’ _sounds like a really amazing place,’_ Peeta’s words echo in my head.

“So . . . you think Katniss’ dream was really Thresh?” Peeta asks, sucked into Roberta’s story as much as me.

“Oh, I don’t know anything for certain. Who’s to say what we are able to _know_ while our mind is at rest? The subconscious is a mysterious thing.” Roberta says, smiling and wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you, Katniss, for sharing this with me, I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for the two of you.”

“I . . . I don’t understand, how do you not hate us? If it weren’t for us, Thresh might have made it back home to you.”

“No Katniss, please do not think that way. If Thresh could not come home, I know he would have wanted it to be you two. You guys are special, you—” Roberta moves in closer to me and Peeta, “You guys are going to change Panem, you are, after all, the mockingjay and the jabberjay,” she whispers to us.

“Hey guys, we need to start heading back,” Haymitch tells us.

“There is one last thing I must say before we part ways; what you did for my boy in the arena Katniss, thank you. Thank you so much; Penny and I, we will never forget your actions, and there are many of us on your side,” she pauses and turns to face Peeta, “And you too Peeta.”

We split up on our way back to the Justice Building, I’m guessing it would look suspicious if we all returned at the same time. Peeta and I are still too shocked for verbal speech; having a conversation of our own where no one can hear us.

* * *

**| Madge |**

“What in the world are you doing, or do I even want to know?” I walk into the Everdeen’s home to see Prim sitting on the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest; sewing a . . . _is that a banana?_

“Practicing these sutures,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world; all the while, never breaking her gaze with the piece of fruit.

“On a banana?”

“Mmm hmm,” she hums, nodding; refusing to allow my presence break her concentration.

“Why?” I ask her; my face scrunched up in confusion.

“Because, if you do it just right, when the wound heals it won’t leave a scar.”

“Okay, yeah. I was right, I didn’t want to know. Is um . . . is your dad here?” I finally ask, hoping she is too immersed in her banana to question my presence, or why I am requesting an audience with her father.

“Yeah, he’s in the den with Mom.”

“Okay, I . . . I’ll uh . . . let you get back to your banana.”

“Oh— hey Madge!” 

“Yeah?” I call out to her, tensing up. I pause in my tracks, almost afraid of what she is going to say.

_‘Please don’t ask why I’m here, please don’t ask why I’m here, please—’_

“There is some goat cheese in the ice box for you; don’t forget it when you leave.” My body immediately relaxes, and I can breathe again at her sweet, kind and simple gesture.

The corners of my lips curve up, “Thank you Prim,” I tell her, surprised that she remembered.

“Don’t thank me, thank Lady.”

Proceeding to my destination, I tap lightly on the door that leads to the den, “Come in!” Mr. Everdeen yells. Timidly, I slowly open the door and see Dylan sitting in his chair at the office desk while Lilly is perched on top of it. My body tenses up when I think it’s another light enhancer, but then I realize it’s a flashlight. One of the medical kinds and she’s beaming the light into Dylan’s eyes. Maybe it’s an eye exam?

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Oh, no. Lil and I were just talking. Is everything okay Madge?” He asks me with a quizzical lift of his brow.

“Um . . . Do you have a minute? I need someone to talk to . . . but it’s kind of . . .” I stutter as my eyes meet the ceiling in hopes he understands that I can’t have the Capitol privy to our conversation. “— sensitive,” my eyes land on my hands by the time I finish, twiddling my thumbs and hoping he understands my unspoken message.

“I’ve got some things I need to take care of. But— we are _not_ done,” Lilly glares at Dylan, hopping off the desk and then plants a kiss to his cheek. “Come and find me when you guys are done,” she says before disappearing out the door and waving me goodbye.

Dylan pulls his hand out of his pocket and my eyes go saucer-eyed when they land on the object pinched between his fingers, “OH MY GOD! Where did you get that?” I exclaim, noticing the similarities to the coin in his hand and the one my dad left for me.

Dylan places a finger to his lips, and I nod in assent.

I obey unblinkingly, followed by a brief moment of silence while he does something to the coin, and then he finally speaks, “Poppy gave me this coin . . . it disrupts the Capitol’s surveillance. Why do you ask?”

“So, that’s what it does!” I bellow with excitement. “I um . . . I found one that looks just like that in a box my dad left for me. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it did, or if it even did anything. But I knew it had to be important if he left it for me.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something Ric would have done,” Dylan smiles at the memory of my dad and I pinch my forearm to quell the stinging behind my eyes. “The only drawback is you only have five minutes,” he explains. Oh. If I only have five minutes, then I better get to the point.

“And you’re certain it’s secure?”

“Absolutely. What’s wrong Madge?” He frowns.

“I um . . .” I tell him everything about the other day. The day at the mayor’s house during Kizzie’s piano lessons; the conversation between Poppy and Raven that I overheard. I omit the details of my new “Pen Pal,” not sure if it’s even relevant. I wonder if he is even aware of the _‘book’_ , and how many of us, _‘rebels’_ have one. I’m guessing there are at least two in each district.

I skipped school today; not ready to face Rye. I wouldn’t have known what to tell him and I feel like I need some answers of my own before I share any information with him.

“Goddammit! Raven must know something, but what?” Dylan jumps up from his seat and begins pacing, tugging on the ends of his hair as he mumbles something unintelligible to himself.

“So, you know what it means?” I ask him.

Judging by the dumbfounded expression painted on his face, he seems to have forgotten about my presence in the room.

“Not exactly. Madge, you can be honest with me; I promise I won’t be upset. Have you told anyone what you've heard? Anyone at all?”

“No, I was too afraid,” I tell him unblinkingly, shaking my head from side to side, “it’s why I came over here to talk to you because it was driving me mad!” I leave the part out about my fight with Gale and how we haven’t spoken in days, not that it would matter anyway.

“Good. Good. Madge, I need you to sit tight. You absolutely cannot speak a word of this to _anyone!”_ He stresses, causing me to believe that the situation is much more dire than I initially believed.

I draw the curtains and lock my door as soon as I get home, grabbing a pillow and blanket from my room and settle in on the couch. Closing my eyes, I replay the events from earlier.

_Just as my pen was about to meet the paper, the light enhancer began to vibrate, the signal of an incoming message. Clicking the top of the pen to activate the light, I began reading the words as they came in._

_‘Do you know where Nick is? I haven’t heard from in hours and I’m getting anxious. He promised he would answer if I used this book. Oh, Mags, I am so scared; my heart is racing, my head is spinning; it feels as if tiny little bugs are crawling just beneath my skin. I see those little twinkling floating stars, no matter which way I look and when I close my eyes all I see is him, is Chiron when Kerigan took his head off, I see it rolling, rolling, rolling and the blood spurting and his eyes are open, blank and staring back at me, asking me, “Why didn’t you save me? I thought we were allies, I thought you had my back!” Please, I need Nick, please tell him I need him!’_

_I read the passage three times before I responded, hoping it wasn’t a trick. Who was this person writing in this book, and how was I reading their words? From the sound of it, it seems like it could be another victor. How many people have one of these books? Feeling a connection with the author on the other side, I click the pen again, touching it to the page and write:_

_‘When you close your eyes, imagine a beautiful sunrise and think about new beginnings. Take a deep breath, fill your lungs up as much as you can and think about all those bad thoughts. Now, purse your lips and slowly release the air, breathing out the bad images. Imagine you’re blowing a balloon up, but first, you’re filling it up with all the bad. Then you can pop the balloon, or let it fly away; whichever you choose, think about it taking all the bad memories with it. That’s what helps me,’ I tell the recipient of my words._

_‘Who is this? Mags? Is that you?’_

_I’m seriously taking a chance with the next words I write, but something deep in my gut says it’s okay; that this person is trustworthy._

_‘My name is Madge. District 12. May I ask . . . who are you?’_

_‘I uh, I’m sorry, I thought this was . . . I’d rather not say my name, but I am in District 4. How did you know to do that?’_

_‘How did I know to do what?’_

_‘The breathing? The imagery?’ The other person asks me, and for some reason, I’m picturing a girl. A girl my age, possibly a little older._

_‘It’s called a panic attack. I um, I used to help my mom through them and that always seemed to work for her.’ I don’t tell her about my own_ ‘images’ _, or the nightmares that haunt me since the death of my parents._

_‘Thank you Madge, and my name is—’_

* * *

**| Prim |**

“Mom, they’re so beautiful! Look at Katniss’ dress, I wish it was that warm here.” I tell my mom, looking to the screen in front of us.

“Soon honey, soon,” Mom says, dismissing me. I absolutely despise it when she does this; acts as if my thoughts and opinions are inconsequential. With a scowl on my face, I take a few steps to the left so that I’m standing next to Madge and Posie. When “soon” comes, it will be time for the next reaping, something I am **_not_** looking forward to. I still haven’t confronted either of my parents about what I overheard before Katniss came home and I think it’s for the best. Madge is the only one who knows that I know, and I intend to keep it that way. It’s better to play the part of _clueless, innocent, little sister;_ for now, anyway.

Peeta’s speech is beautiful and elegant as always; but it’s Peeta, so I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. A few weeks ago, he was working on some of his speeches and asked me to listen; District 11 being the hardest of them all because of his and Katniss’ alliance with their tributes.

“I know this in no way makes up for the loss of your children, but as a token of our thanks, Katniss and I would like for each of the tributes families of District 11 to receive one month of our winnings for the duration of our lives. Thank you.” With a smile, Peeta nods his head and takes a small step back.

Our entire district gasps in shock; myself included. This is my first time hearing those words; this wasn’t in any of the speeches I listened in on. I turn my head to meet Madge’s eyes and see a replica of my befuddled expression plastered on her face. Which means that this is her first time hearing them too.

“Oh my god, can he do that?” Mom’s eyes wide with shock, turns to Dad in a hushed, but shocked whisper.

Very nonchalantly, Dad just shrugs his shoulders; as if what Peeta just did was no big deal at all.

“Baker boy sure knows how to make a statement,” Gale smirks from somewhere behind Madge.

With my hands on my hips I turn around to face him, scowling like my sister does, “Would you quit calling him that? My _brother’s_ name is _Peeta_.” Madge smiles, turning around and gives Gale a look that immediately tells me she has asked the same of him too. And then, I wonder what Gale has against Peeta?

“Brother?” Gale snorts, furrowing his brows in confusion. “Like **_I’m_** your cousin?”

I’m about to say something crass when Madge’s lips form into a straight line, giving me a look as if to say, “Don’t push it,” so I turn my back to him, ignoring his antics.

“He’s in a mood,” Madge leans in and whispers to me.

My eyes widen in shock when we avert our attention back to the screen and I see Katniss and Peeta being shown off the stage.

“Is she really not going to say anything?” I question, just as my sister pleads to give her thanks as well. And thank them, she does. She gives her thanks to Rue, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride when she compares the sweet young girl to me. She doesn’t use my name, but I’m the only sister she has. Then she talks about how brave Thresh was and how she admired him for refusing to join the careers. And then she sings, which completely throws me for a loop because Katniss almost _never_ sings, and _especially_ not in front of a huge audience like there is in 11.

But it’s the most beautiful song I think I may have ever heard from her. “Do you know that song?” I look up to meet my dad’s confused eyes and know the answer before he speaks.

“No, but I wish I did; it’s beautiful,” he says, almost star-struck.

“I didn’t know Catnip could sing,” Gale mumbles to himself.

And then the screen goes black.

“Wh-what happened? Was it supposed to just turn off like that?” I ask, more than a little confused.

* * *

**| Effie |**

“I thought this is what you wanted, I thought you wanted them to speak from their hearts?”

“Yeah, I did, but . . . I didn’t expect them to be so . . . effective.” It’s just like Haymitch to underestimate Katniss, given how spontaneous she is, especially when her emotions are involved.

“What do you think is going to happen, a-are their families in danger?”

“Probably,” Haymitch tenses up and I wonder if something has already happened.

Haymitch and I are waiting outside for Katniss and Peeta, as it will be our only chance to speak freely for a while. The train has stopped for fuel and we will be in District 10 by this time tomorrow.

Conjoined by their fingers, Katniss and Peeta appear from around the corner; both of them with questioning expressions on their faces.

“What’s going on?” Katniss is the first to speak up. 

Haymitch looks over to me, his eyebrow twitching nervously. I reach into my pocket to retrieve the envelope I received earlier tonight and offer it over to Peeta. With a quizzical glance, Peeta’s brows furrow with confusion and he says, “What’s this?”

“Just open it,” Haymitch instructs him.

Apprehensively, and with delicate precision, Peeta proceeds to open the envelope, unfolding the page and looking more frightened than I have ever seen him.

He does not read it aloud, but I have the letter memorized from when I read it only moments ago.

** Orders from the Capitol: **

_‘In light of recent events in District 11, the officials in the Capitol feel that it is in the best interest of all involved for the victors to address the remaining districts with strictly Capitol approved discourse. Enclosed you will find speeches that will not entice disturbances, which we are sure were unknowingly caused by the victors during their visit to District 11. Please follow the schedule we have enclosed and do not make any unnecessary stops. Do not leave the train unless approved by officials beforehand. Do not attempt to tour any official or unofficial buildings unless approved by the Capitol beforehand. And under no circumstances are Miss Everdeen and Mr. Mellark allowed to be left unattended in any district, other than 12, without peacekeepers to protect them from harm. We would hate for anything to happen to them prior to their arrival to the Capitol.’_

“Wh-what does this mean; Haymitch, do you think— are our families safe?” The fear in Katniss’ eyes is prevalent. But wait a minute, how did she— how does she know what the letter said, she did not read it yet and she was standing much too far from Peeta to view the words.

“Tell me _exactly_ what Snow said to you,” Haymitch demands.

“He said for us to prove that we’re in love with each other, and that . . . that our actions in the arena were because of that love, and not to defy the Capitol,” Peeta explains, trying to pull the memories from his head.

“So, how do we do that? How do we prove our undying love for the other?” Katniss questions, her face distorted with much confusion.

“If I may— um, perhaps I have a suggestion,” I begin, and everyone cements their eyes on me.

“If the goal is to prove your love, what better way than the ultimate commitment?”

“Hmmm . . . now, that just might work.” Haymitch says, rubbing his chin.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That we should get m-m—” Katniss stutters, unable to get the word out.

“Yes. A live proclamation of your undying love, during your interview with Caesar. Peeta proposes. Yes, yes, it’s brilliant!”

“Sure! Let’s get married!” Peeta shouts, spinning on his heels and marches back to the train.

“Peeta!” Katniss yells, about to chase after him but Haymitch stops her.

“Give him a minute Sweetheart. There’s something else we need to talk about.”

* * *

**| President Snow |**

“Damn those brats! Why the hell can’t they just do as they're told!” I exclaim.

_‘Don’t you know Coriolanus, mockingjay’s have a mind of their own.’_

The feed is cut in 11, but as the president, I have the capability to continue watching. A certain amount of pleasure rises in me from the execution of that man. And the two others that followed after him.

“This is what happens if you choose to follow the _Mockingjay,”_ I utter into the empty room, inhaling the fumes from the white rose in my lapel. The second the lovely fragrance hits the tip of my nose, I immediately relax; the effects immediate.

_‘You do realize you are dependent on your precious roses, Coriolanus. What ever would you do without the toxins that calm you so? What if you woke one day to find your rose garden extinct?’_ Lucy Gray’s voice echoes in my head and I am instantly anxious. I click the button on my remote to view the live feed of my rose garden to find it intact; the relief flooding my senses.

“Shut up,” I berate the voice in my head; I cannot decipher whether it is truly Lucy Gray or simply a figment of my imagination.

Shaking my head, I pick up my cellular device and place a call to my contact in 12.

“Peacekeeper Headquarters, District 12,” one of the Peacekeeper’s answers the phone.

“Push me through to the Head Peacekeeper,” I demand.

“President Snow?” The man immediately recognizes my voice, “Oh, yes, yes, one moment please.” 

“Yes Sir; Head Peacekeeper Cray speaking, Sir; what can I do for you Sir?”

A sly grin appears on my face as I picture the idiot standing at attention, “Do you remember the favor that is owed to me?” 

Cray gulps, “Yes sir,” he says, his voice quavering and not nearly as confident as it was just a moment ago.

“I am ready to collect.” 

**Xxx**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Madge plays with Kizzie, “Heart & Soul” is a song my kids play on the piano (often) and was the inspiration for that section. If you have time, you should check it out. It’s called “Heart & Soul” by Hoagy Carmichael & Frank Loesser. 
> 
> The song Katniss sings in District 11 is “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” although I did change “blue jays” to “mockingjay’s”. (Inspired by Judy Garland/Wizard of Oz) I thought Thresh's reference to the rainbow's colors seemed like a perfect fit.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I really, really struggled with it. I’m not sure how many times I wrote it, and re-wrote it, scratched it and started all over again!!! 
> 
> What did you think about the conversation Madge overheard between Poppy and Raven? What about Madge’s new “pen pal”? Can you guess who it is? 
> 
> If you have a minute, please leave me a review, it makes me super-duper happy!!! (((SmiLey FaCe)))
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Amelia

**Author's Note:**

> Just like in "Changing the Game" I am going to give you guys a little sneak peek into the following chapter.
> 
> From Madge:
> 
> Katniss nods, staring at me eagerly and soaking up my every word. “So, the guy can . . . you know, pull out before he . . . you know. And the other way I read about was about counting the days between your cycles. Really, there is only a small window of opportunity to get pregnant. I think I remember reading that it’s something like two weeks from the day you start your period. Wait a minute, I bet your mom knows some herbs or something—”
> 
> My goal is to post a new chapter at least every 2 weeks, most likely on Fridays. Don't forget to leave a review :) I hope you enjoyed!!!


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